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Book -Q§ ^11 

Copyright N° Jit 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSITS 







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DICK ARNOLD 

of 

RARITAN COLLEGE 


i 







































GRASPING IT EAGERLY, THE BOY DASHED AHEAD 


[Page 139] 


DICK ARNOLD 
of 

RARITAN COLLEGE 


BY 

EARL REED SILVERS 

M 



FRONTISPIECE 


/ 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
NEW YORK LONDON 


1920 



Copyright, 1920, by 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


Copyright, 1917, *1918, 

BY THE PBESBYTEBIAN BOABD OP 
PUBLICATION AND SABBATH SCHOOL WORK 


• # 

* t • 

MAY i l ia20 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


© Cl, A 5 6 6 9 4 8 

"H-* - *• , 



TO 

THE UNDERGRADUATES 

OF RUTGERS COLLEGE 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Decision ....... . . r. 1 

II. Finances and Football . . . .... 9 

III. A Two-Hundred-Dollar Idea 25 

IV. The New Tackle . 36 

V. Phe Big Freshman 49 

VI. Ted Whiter Scheme 63 

VII. The Beginning of a Problem 76 

VIII. Football Players and Workers .... 88 

IX. A Gain and a Loss 101 

X. The First Half 116 

XI. The Awakening 136 

XII. A Question of Money 144 

XIII. Over the Cliff 156 

XIV. A Chance to Pay Back 168 

XV. Rival Candidates 179 

XVI. A Visit . 190 

XVII. A Chance for Ted 201 

XVIII. Fair Play . 213 

XIX. Ted’s Decision 225 

XX. The Final Chance . 236 

XXI. The New Captain . « « . rr . . .248 






















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DICK ARNOLD 
OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


CHAPTER I 

A DECISION 

D ICK ARNOLD was worried. It was al- 
most time for him to return to college, 
and the thing which had been bothering 
him all summer was not yet decided. And, before 
any decision was to be made Dick knew that he 
would have his father to reckon with. 

Doctor Arnold was one of the best known phy- 
sicians in Greenwood, a small town in Central Kan- 
sas, with a practice large enough to educate his 
son as he saw fit. The older man was himself a 
graduate of Raritan College, and it was his one 
wish and desire that Dick should follow in his 
footsteps and be captain of the Raritan football 
team. But he also wished, and demanded, another 
thing. For three generations the eldest son in 
the Arnold family had been a physician. It had 
grown to be something of a tradition, and Doctor 
Arnold had set his heart upon Dick graduating 
from college and entering medical school. 

The boy had demurred at first. In high school, 
1 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


chemistry had not appealed to him ; he could see no 
sense in the endless formulas; and invariably, 
when he attempted an experiment, it resulted dif- 
ferently from what was expected of it. He stained 
his fingers and ruined his clothes, but all to no 
avail. As a chemist he was a failure; he was a 
good football player. 

The Doctor, however, maintained that he would 
do better in college, and the boy, following his ad- 
vice, entered Raritan as a student in the chemistry 
course. The results were discouraging, to say the 
least. At the end of the first year, Dick’s marks 
were too close to the minimum sixty per cent for 
any degree of comfort; and at the conclusion of 
the sophomore term, a note from the registrar ad- 
vised him that he had failed in quantitative analy- 
sis. Doctor Arnold raved and stormed when the 
report reached him, and vowed that Dick would 
learn chemistry if it had to be hammered into him. 
But the boy only smiled, for it was at that time 
that the germ of a big resolution had entered his 
mind. 

He had always been interested in any work 
which included writing, and during the summer 
vacations had done some splendid work as reporter 
for the Greenwood Record. He was never ' so 
happy as when sitting at a desk with a typewriter 
before him; he wrote easily and fluently, and his 
style gave promise of a future of real worth in the 
literary field. 

His failure in technical subjects at college had 
2 


A DECISION 


shown him one thing clearly : He had not a physi- 
cian *s natural qualifications; he was not fitted for 
the practice of medicine. And because he could 
upon occasion think plainly and straight to the 
point, he knew that he would never achieve success 
as a doctor. And he knew also that he would be 
dissatisfied, even discontented. And so, as the 
summer advanced, it had been more and more im- 
pressed upon him that he should go frankly to his 
father and announce his intention of dropping the 
study of medicine. But because he knew that the 
older man would be both hurt and disappointed, 
he had put aside his decision, and delayed definite 
action. 

A letter from the college stating that the Sep- 
tember term would open in two weeks was the one 
thing which decided him finally. Dick knew that 
if he hesitated any longer, it would be too late. 
So, that evening, he bearded the Doctor in his den. 

“Dad,” he said, “I’ve decided not to be a physi- 
cian, after all.” 

The older man looked up as if his ears had de- 
ceived him. 

“What!” he ejaculated. “You’re not going to 
be a doctor?” 

“No, sir.” 

They faced each other across the room, father 
and son in the first clash they had ever had. In 
the eyes of one was a rather dumbfounded sur- 
prise ; in those of the other a stubborn determina- 
tion. 


3 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“Why?” asked the man finally. 

“Because I want to be a writer. I don’t like 
the study of medicine.” 

“But you haven’t tried it yet.” 

“I know, but I’ve tried chemistry, and it’s the 
worst job I’ve ever tackled.” 

“You’ll get over that; and, anyway, chemistry 
isn’t all that, you ’ll have to know to be a doctor.” 

“I know it isn’t, but I’m not fitted for that kind 
of life. Whenever I see a cat limping across the 
street I begin to feel sick, and once when I saw a 
dog hit by an automobile I almost fainted.” 

The Doctor snorted angrily. 

“You’ll get over that,” he answered. “We all 
feel it at first.” 

“I won’t get over it, and I can’t be a physician. 
That’s all there is to it, Dad.” 

Dick tried to speak calmly, but his voice shook. 
His father was a large man; the old type of phy- 
sician with a gruff manner and heavy voice, and 
he was accustomed to obedience. For a moment 
he was taken back by the boy’s words; defiance to 
his wishes was a new experience to him, and he 
did not know quite what to make of it. But re- 
covering himself instantly, he slammed his fist 
down on the desk so that the books and papers 
jumped up crazily. 

“You’ll be a doctor and take the course that I 
want you to, or you won’t go to college,” he bel- 
lowed. “We’ll see whether you’ll disobey me or 
not.” 


4 


A DECISION 


* ‘But, Dad,” Dick remonstrated, “don’t yon see 
that if I don’t like the work I can never make a 
success of it?” 

“That hasn’t anything to do with it. You’ve 
got to like the work; it’s a tradition of the family. 
Your grandfather and great-grandfather were 
doctors before you, and it’s in your blood. You 
can’t get away from it.” 

“But it isn’t in my blood, and I can get away 
from it.” 

The boy’s voice had lost its wavering note and 
rang out clearly. His heart was beating like a 
hammer, but he was resolved to win his point at 
almost any cost. He felt that his whole future 
was at stake. 

For a long two minutes they stood there, father 
and son looking into the depths of each other’s 
eyes. Then the older man changed his tactics ; he 
became sarcastic. 

“And what do you think you would like to do?” 
he asked. 

“I want to take the literary course and be a 
writer. ’ ’ 

“Where did you get the idea?” 

“I’ve had it for a long time; it’s what I’m fitted 
for.” 

The Doctor laughed scornfully. 

“That isn’t a man’s work,” he chided. “It’s 
girlish. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Why is it girlish ? ’ ’ 

“Because you’re not doing anything; anybody 
5 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


can write things. If yon wanted to be an engineer 
and achieve something, I might not object. But a 
writer — pooh!” 

He snapped his fingers, and Dick felt the hot 
blood surge to his face. But he held himself in 
check, for it was his father he was talking to, his 
father, whom he had always regarded with the 
greatest reverence. 

“ Shakespeare was a writer,” he answered. 
“He not only achieved, he created. And his name 
is more widely known than the greatest engineer 
in the world.” 

For about thirty seconds the older man remained 
silent, gazing thoughtfully out of the office window. 
Finally he turned, the hint of appeal in his eyes. 

“Boy,” he said, “for eighteen years Fve 
planned to make a doctor out of you. It’s been 
the most cherished dream of my life. I’ve built 
up my own practice, not for myself, but for you. 
I’ve thought that, when I grew too old to do active 
work, I could step aside and let you take my place. 
And the same name could hang on the shingle out- 
side the door.” 

It was hard to resist the appeal in his voice; 
doubly hard because Dick knew how much his 
father had planned for him. For a moment the 
boy almost capitulated. He told himself that per- 
haps he could learn to like chemistry, after all; 
that perhaps it was his duty to do as his father 
wished. It occurred to him that possibly he was 
wrong and that the doctor, who was older and 
6 


A DECISION 


more experienced, knew more about it. Maybe be 
had better give in, after all — 

A knock sounded at the door, and, with a gesture 
of impatience, the physician strode across the 
room and opened it. A man staggered across the 
threshold, blood streaming from a cut over his 
forehead. His hair was matted, his eyes stared 
wildly. 

“Doc,” he muttered thickly, “I’ve had an acci- 
dent. My head — ” 

With a moan, he tumbled in a heap on the floor. 

Dick Arnold was sickened at the sight; a lump 
arose in his throat, his head swam dizzily. With- 
out so much as a look at the poor fellow on the 
carpet, he almost ran from the room. 

It was an hour or more before his father was 
able to see him again. During that time Dick had 
gone over the situation thoroughly. He knew in 
his heart of hearts that he would never make a 
successful physician; the incident of the injured 
man had proved that without a doubt. On the 
other hand, he had shown promise at newspaper 
work ; he enjoyed writing, and felt that with proper 
training he could become a successful literary man. 
So he entered the office for the second time with a 
stern resolve to gain his point at any cost. 

“Dad,” he said, “I wish that I could do as you 
want me to, but it isn’t in me.” 

The doctor had been upset by the events of the 
past hour, and for the first time he lost complete 
control of himself. 


7 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“You’ll do what I say or I’ll know the reason 
why,” he thundered. “I won’t have a son of 
mine disobeying me.” 

“I’m not disobeying you, Dad,” the boy remon- 
strated. ‘ ‘ But don ’t you see that my whole future 
is in the balance? You haven’t any right to make 
me into something I’m not fitted for.” 

Dick was eighteen years old and fairly capable 
of knowing his own mind, but the doctor was of 
the old-fashioned school and believed that a son 
should follow without question the dictates of his 
father’s mind. His lips shut in grim determina- 
tion. 

“If you don’t keep on with your chemistry,” 
he announced, “I won’t give you another cent for 
your college education.” 

At heart Doctor Arnold was the kindest man in 
the world, but he was possessed of a streak of 
stubbornness which nothing could shake. Dick 
knew that he meant what he said. But probably 
the same streak of stubbornness was in the boy; 
at any rate, he was determined not to give in. 

“All right,” he answered slowly, “then I’ll earn 
my own expenses.” 

The older man nodded briefly, signifying the 
end of the discussion. With his heart beating a 
trifle faster than usual, Dick arose and left the 
room. He had committed himself; there was no 
backing down. It was up to him to earn enough 
money to pay his way at college for the next two 
years. 


8 


CHAPTER II 


FINANCES AND FOOTBALL 

C OLLEGE was scheduled to open in three 
weeks, and the task that lay before Dick in 
that time was to find some work which 
would give him an average income of ten dollars a 
week. The task was a big one. At Raritan he 
was known as a fellow who liked to have a good 
time and who always had plenty of money. His 
friends, in most cases, were fairly well-to-do and 
spent money carelessly, if not recklessly. He be- 
longed to a fraternity and roomed in the fraternity 
house, where rents were twice as high as they were 
in the college dormitory. And finally, he did not 
know a single student who was working his own 
way, and there was no one to whom he could go for 
advice. 

Raritan College was situated in New Jersey, 
about midway between New York and Philadel- 
phia. The town of Raritan boasted of thirty thou- 
sand inhabitants ; it had two newspapers, a num- 
ber of factories, and ten restaurants. Dick had 
read somewhere that students could always secure 
jobs waiting on tables; but he shrank instinctively 
from that kind of labor. During his first two 
9 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

years at Raritan, lie had made the acquaintance of 
a number of the city’s best families and had gained 
a social prestige which would have been lost had 
he become a waiter in an all-night lunch room. 

For two days he racked his brain, trying to 
think of some way in which to earn the necessary 
ten dollars every week. This was for living ex- 
penses only, for at the beginning of his freshman 
year he had been awarded what was known as the 
“Middle West Scholarship,” which covered tui- 
tion and public room fees, and which had been 
awarded without reference, to academic standing. 
He had spent much more than ten dollars a week in 
those carefree times when his father paid the bills, 
but he estimated that, by practicing economy, he 
could limit his expenditures to* about forty dollars 
a month. At any rate, he resolved to make a try 
at it. 

The best possible field was, of course, in news- 
paper work, so that night Dick wrote a long and 
eloquent letter to one of the two papers in Raritan, 
stating that he would like to cover the college for 
them at either space rates or salary basis. Hav- 
ing started on this line, he decided to develop it; 
and one evening, when there was nothing else to 
do, he composed a letter and sent it to six New 
York papers, two in Newark, and one in another 
Jersey town. He then sat back and anxiously 
awaited developments. 

About a week later, when he was ready to give 
up hope and admit defeat, an answer came from 
10 


FINANCES AND FOOTBALL 


the Raritan Times . The editor stated that he had 
been having trouble in finding a correspondent 
who could really write news, and that if the appli- 
cant could prove himself efficient after the first 
two weeks, he would be given the position of col- 
lege reporter at a salary of eight dollars a week. 
Dick grinned happily ; the problem seemed to have 
been solved miraculously. But that was not all. 
A few days later, one New York paper advised 
him that it would use Raritan news every Sunday 
at space rates of five dollars a column, and a New- 
ark paper appointed him Raritan correspondent 
at a space rate of twenty cents an inch. 

It seemed too good to be true, and when Dick 
showed the results of his efforts to his father, the 
doctor smiled delightedly. They had another long 
talk which ended by the older man offering to ad- 
vance any amount of money which might he 
needed. The hoy, however, smilingly refused the 
offer; he was resolved that he would get along 
without aid from home if he had to stay up all 
night writing news. He figured that his income 
would be at least twelve dollars a week. But the 
doctor was dubious. 

‘ ‘ You ’ve started off with a big flourish, ’ ’ he said, 
“and you think that it's all over but the shouting. 
But you’ll find that it isn’t. You’ve never been 
accustomed to hard work, and unless you keep at 
it every minute you’re going to fall behind. 
You’d better drop the Raritan paper and let me 
help you out.” 


11 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


But Dick was obdurate and, maintaining that 
he could do it easily, outlined a plan whereby he 
could minimize the labor. He would arise at six 
o’clock every morning and write the day’s story 
for the Times. In the evening, he planned to take 
care of the two out-of-town papers, in a good 
many cases using carbon copies of the same 
stoiy. 

He had been a member of the varsity football 
team for two years, and was in line for the cap- 
taincy. The doctor, who, as has been said, was an 
old football player himself, was frankly proud of 
his son’s accomplishments on the gridiron, and 
after every game insisted that the result be sent 
him by telegram. So when Dick received word 
from the manager to report on the field a week be- 
fore college opened, the older man helped him pack 
his trunk and took him down to the station in the 
runabout. All trace of ill feeling between them 
had disappeared. 

“Good luck to you,” he said, as the train pulled 
up. “Don’t forget that if you need any money; 
your old Dad is ready to dig deep into his bank 
account. ’ ’ 

His voice was a little more gruff than usual, 
and the boy had a sneaking suspicion that the 
older man was rather proud of the fact that he 
had decided to strike out for himself. But neither 
of them spoke about it. 

The trip to Raritan was rather uneventful. 
Dick had saved enough money during the summer 
12 


FINANCES AND FOOTBALL 

to pay his fare and all minor expenses, and when 
he reached the college he still had something like 
fifty dollars as a nucleus far a bank account. 

The campus was practically deserted when he 
reached town at three -o’clock in the afternoon. 
He had written to the Registrar in advance, ask- 
ing that his room- be transferred from the fra- 
ternity house to the college dormitory, and the 
first thing that he did was to find the place that 
had been assigned to him. It proved to be a 
double room in the comer of the building. The 
study windows looked out over the campus, a 
branch from one of the old elm trees thrust itself 
against the screen and reminded him of home. 
From the window he could catch a glimpse of the 
gymnasium and athletic field; and far across the 
river could see the steeple in the little town of 
Cranwood, standing out like a white specter 
against the blue of the sky. On the way to the 
gym to dress for football practice, he asked the 
registrar who his roommate was. 

“It’s Ted White,’ ’ the college official answered. 
“A member of your own class.” 

Dick had known Ted only slightly during the 
first two years. He remembered him as a big fel- 
low, with rather shabby clothes and a slouchy 
walk. Some one had mentioned once that White 
was working his way through college, fixing fur- 
naces in the winter and mowing grass in the sum- 
mer. It seemed rather lucky to Dick that he 
should be thrown in with him, for he could prob- 
13 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


ably give a lot of advice about economizing, some- 
thing Dick had never been able to do. 

When he reached the gymnasium, the majority 
of the squad were already on the field, so he se- 
cured some togs from an assistant manager and 
dressed hurriedly. A few minutes later he was 
standing on the running track surrounding the 
gridiron. It was great to be out in togs again, 
great to feel the spring of the ground beneath 
leather cleats. At the far end of the field about 
twenty players were gathered, listening to some 
one Dick could not see. It was a perfect after- 
noon in late summer, almost too mild for football, 
but there was something about the air which made 
him feel as if he could jump into the midst of a 
hard scrimmage at a moment’s notice. 

Raritan Field that day was one of the most 
beautiful spots the boy had ever seen. It lay on a 
bluff overlooking the river. Across the silver 
band of water rose a series of low hills; an old 
farmhouse, red against the green background, was 
overshadowed by monstrous white barns. Two 
miles away, the steeple which had caught his eye 
from the study window shone glistening in the 
sunshine. There was something about that field 
which always made Dick feel as if the world was 
a good place to live in. 

Breathing deeply, he trotted around the track to 
where the squad was holding converse. Captain 
Jim Way, seeing him first, whooped joyfully and 
came running toward him. The firm clasp of the 
14 


FINANCES AND FOOTBALL 

captain's Land was a welcome well worth a trip 
halfway across the continent. 

“How are you, Dick, old chap?” he demanded, 
his blue eyes shining. ‘ ‘ You look fine as a fiddle. ' 9 

“I am, Jimmy. I've been working all sum- 
mer. 9 9 

The others crowded around just then, and for a 
few minutes Dick was busy shaking hands with the 
fellows he had not seen for over three months. 
He had known most of the members of the squad 
for two years ; had fought with them in the foot- 
ball field, dressed with them in the gym, shared 
their doubts and their hopes through two unfor- 
gettable seasons. He smiled happily. It was 
great to be back once more. 

Suddenly another presence made itself felt. 
Looking up, Dick beheld, standing a little to one 
side, the largest man he had ever seen. 

“•Who is the new man?” he queried. 

Jim Way drew him to one side. 

“Haven't you heard about Coach Strong?” he 
asked. 

“No, what about him?” 

“He's accepted another job and can't coach usi 
this year. So we've secured the services of Ar- 
thur Handford. He's the best football coach in 
the country, and the only reason we've gotten him 
is because he 's a great friend of one of our alumni. 
He promises to make us a championship team in 
two months. ' ' 

Dick looked interestedly at the newcomer. 

15 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


What lie saw was a man standing six feet four in 
his football shoes. His eyes were steel gray, his 
jaw protruded aggressively. His massive arms 
swung listlessly at his side, but there was some- 
thing about him which hinted at latent energy. 
As Dick looked, he turned toward the squad. 

“Come on, men,” he bellowed. “Kick the ball 
around. ’ ’ 

His voice snapped out like the crack of the whip. 
Instinctively the squad jumped to obey his com- 
mand. There was something about him which 
forbade dalliance. The greatest coach in the 
world had taken Raritan under his wing. It 
promised to be a big season. 

The practice that afternoon was something Dick 
Arnold never forgot. For two long hours Coach 
Handford pounded the rudiments of football into 
the team. It was too early for heavy work; the 
players were not in the best of condition and many 
of them were wishing with all their hearts that 
they had begun training a few weeks ahead of 
time. 

But the coach was merciless. Time and again 
the players raced down the field under soaring 
punts; time and again they made long dashes to 
catch the forward passes which Jim Way hurled 
skillfully just within their reach. It was easy to 
see why Handford was considered the best foot- 
ball coach in the country. There was something 
compelling about him; tired as the men were, not 
one of them considered letting down in his work 
16 


FINANCES AND FOOTBALL 


for an instant. The coach’s voice boomed across 
the field, and the team hastened to obey his com- 
mands. 

It was all very different from the last two years, 
when Raritan, as a small college, had played small 
college football. There were generally about 
thirty candidates for the team; and as the season 
wore away it was customary for a number of those 
who could not make the varsity to drop out. 
Sometimes it was hard to find eleven men for the 
first team to scrimmage against. But it looked 
now as though things would be different. Hand- 
ford was accustomed to big college football, and 
it was easily seen that he expected a big college 
brand of the game from his new proteges. 

After they had tried kicking, forward passing, 
and falling on the -ball, Coach Handford called 
them together. 

“No football team can win the majority of its 
games,” he said, “until every player on that team 
knows the first principles of football. So I am 
going to start with you boys from the ground up. 
I’m going to make believe that you haven’t played 
football before, and I’m going to show you how it 
should be played. ’ ’ 

He began with the linemen and put them 
through the mi]l for twenty solid minutes. He 
showed them how to charge, how to block a run- 
ner, how to use their hands on the offense, and 
how to “keep their legs under them.” It was an 
education just to watch him. He was known 
17 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

throughout the country as a man who invented 
football epigrams. All his gridiron teachings 
were based on two sentences, and he drummed 
them into the players’ minds unceasingly. 

“On the defense,” he announced, “we have but 
one law. "We say to the opposing runner; * this 
far shalt thou go , hut no farther .’ We do not let 
him pass the imaginary line we have drawn in 
front of us. We guard that line as we would our 
lives, and when we can continue to hold the other 
man away from that line, we are great football 
players. ” 

His voice carried the courage of conviction. 
The inspiration of his words worked themselves 
into Dick’s blood, and almost unconsciously the 
boy found himself repeating the sentence : “This 
far shalt thou go, but no farther. ’ ’ 

“And we also have a rule on the offense,” the 
coach continued. “Remember it every minute 
you are in a game. It reads like this: ( Three 
yards I must have, come what may! I will not he 
denied /’ ” 

“I will not be denied!” The words boomed 
across the field; there was something about them 
w T hich thrilled Dick Arnold to the very core. He 
glanced at the other members of the team. They 
were listening eagerly, thrilled as he was by the 
teachings of this big man who knew more football 
than any one they had ever come in contact with. 
Under the spell of his presence, they forgot every- 
thing except the fact that they must play the game 
18 


FINANCES AND FOOTBALL 


with every ounce of strength they possessed ; that 
they must never quit, but fight always for the 
honor of the college. 

“I want you all to remember these things I am 
saying,’ ’ the coach warned them. “ Those two 
sentences are the sum and substance of football 
success. And let me tell you,” he added grimly, 
“that they go to make success in the game of life 
as well as in the smaller game we are playing 
now . 9 ’ 

After a while, he let the linemen go and turned 
his attention to the ends. On the right side of the 
line, Dick waited eagerly. The coach showed him 
how to tackle the runner without hurting himself, 
how to keep an opposing halfback from running 
around him, how to catch a forward pass. The 
boy listened silently, and tried to do as he was 
told; but Art Johnson, at left end, was inclined to 
argue. The new coach seemed to have lots of 
fault to find with him. 

“You don’t know the first rudiments of your 
position,” he said. “An end does not rush wildly 
into every play; he waits and finds out where the 
ball is going.” 

Art took the criticism as a personal affront and 
answered that he had played varsity football for 
two years and that no long runs had ever been 
made through him. Coach Handford smiled. 

“I’m glad to know that I have discovered a per- 
fect man at last,” he said ironically. “I’ve been 
trying to find one all my life. ’ ’ 

19 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


A slight tinge of red crept over Art’s face. 

“Pm not perfect,” lie answered slowly. “But 
I’m a varsity end, and for the last two years I was 
considered the surest tackier on the team.” 

The coach walked over to where Art was stand- 
ing and placed a calloused hand on his shoulder. 
Then he turned to the team. 

“I want all you boys to listen to this,” he an- 
nounced, “because it’s important. It doesn’t 
make any difference to me what any of you were 
last year, or the year before. I’m a new man at 
Raritan and I watch every player with a stran- 
ger’s eye. There is just one thing I want you all 
to know. On this football field, we judge a man’s 
to-morrow by his to-day , but never his to-day by 
his yesterday .” 

It was one of the most earnest speeches Dick 
had ever heard, and it made a deep impression on 
the squad. The players realized suddenly that 
not a single man of them was sure of his position. 
They would be judged on what they did to-day, 
not one on what they had done last year. In other 
words, the new coach was playing no favorites ; all 
of them stood even, and it was up to each man to 
do his level best. Last year’s scrub player had 
just as much chance as the varsity man. 

They left the field that afternoon with this 
thought uppermost in their minds. It was the be- 
ginning of a new era of football at Raritan; the 
influence of the new coach was already making it- 
self felt. 


20 


FINANCES AND FOOTBALL 

Handford sat at the head of the training table 
at supper. His personality off the field was just 
as striking as when he wore a football suit, but he 
seemed more like one of the team after he had 
dropped the role of mentor. He himself had been 
a great football player at Yale, and he told the 
squad stories of the big games with Harvard and 
Princeton until it was nine o’clock before they 
knew it. Then they all adjourned to the steps of 
Willetts Hall. It was a perfect night; innumer- 
able stars shone like golden dots in the dark vault 
of the skies. The campus was deserted, but a soft 
breeze rustled the leaves of the trees and gave a 
hint of the approach of real football weather. 
After a while, they began singing, and when Jim 
Way started up “Dear Old College,” they all rose 
to their feet and remained standing until the last 
verse was concluded. 

There is something about a college which only a 
person who has been there can understand. Dur- 
ing Dick ’s two years at Raritan he had learned to 
love every ivy-covered stone in each of the old 
buildings. He knew that there were other colleges 
larger and better equipped, that the bigger uni- 
versities offered more courses and gave more de- 
grees; but there was something about Raritan 
which made a fellow feel as if it were a second 
home. It was the college Dick’s father had at- 
tended before him ; it was his college, and the boy 
felt suddenly very proud that he had been given 
the chance to fight for it on the football field. 

21 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


At ten o ’clock he left the pthers and went up to 
his room to write an account of the afternoon’s 
practice for the Times . The words rolled from 
his pen, and, before he realized it, he had told all 
about the new coach, and the hands of the clock 
pointed to midnight. But he was not sleepy. 
Perhaps the excitement of the trip, combined with 
the events of the afternoon, drove all thought of 
sleep from his mind. At any rate, he did not want 
to go to bed, so he sat before the open window and 
thought of the big task he had undertaken. He 
realized suddenly that it was no easy thing to work 
one’s way through college. There were so many 
things to occupy the time that only an hour or 
two at the most could be given to work. And if 
he spent too much time on outside tasks, he was 
in danger of failing in his lessons. And, after 
all, lessons are the chief object in going to 
college. 

The boy’s thoughts returned to the afternoon’s 
practice and the words of Coach Handford. He 
could hear the coach’s voice booming across the 
field; he could feel the confidence which his very 
presence inspired. It came to Dick suddenly that, 
if Handford had decided to do a certain thing, he 
would do it ; that he would not be denied. Struck 
by a sudden whim, he walked over to the desk and 
wrote the words on a slip of paper. 

“I will not be denied.” 

He resolved to make it his motto ; to stand by it 
through thick and thin; to keep on trying to make 
22 


FINANCES AND FOOTBALL 


good until success was assured. Then he un- 
dressed slowly and made ready for bed. But for 
a long time he lay awake, thinking of the many 
problems to be solved. Not the least of them was 
his new position in the college body. He was a 
worker now, not one of the wealthy crowd whose 
fathers paid all the bills and gave them allowances 
big enough to permit them to spend as they 
wished. He wondered how his fellow students 
would look upon his new role. They all knew that 
his dad was rich, that there was really no reason 
why he should not spend as much, as he always 
had. He resolved to tell them the true state of 
affairs; and somehow a feeling came over him 
that they would understand and respect his reso- 
lution. 

Then another sentence of Coach Handford’s 
came back to him. 

“On this football field, we judge a man’s to-mor- 
row by his to-day, but never his to-day by his yes- 
terday. ’ ’ 

The phrase seemed to apply to him in particu- 
lar. He was starting on a new track, with differ- 
ent friends, different ideals, different methods of 
living. He was going to be judged, not on what he 
had been, but on what he really was. 

And he resolved, with all the strength of his 
loyal young heart, that he would be worthy of the 
best judgment of the new people with whom 
he would be thrown in contact. He resolved to 
make good. Yesterday was a thing of the past; 

23 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

but it was up to him to make to-day worth 
while. The coach’s epigram had a double 
meaning. 

For, after all, there is not much difference be- 
tween the game of football and the bigger game 
of life. 


CHAPTER III 


A TWO-HUNDRED-DOLLAR IDEA 

D IRECTLY after breakfast the next morn- 
ing Dick took the story of the first foot- 
ball practice down to the editor of the 
Raritan Times . The man scanned the copy quiz- 
zically, but when he had finished he laid it down 
and held out his hand. 

4 4 That ’s a mighty good newspaper story,’ ’ he 
announced. “I think we’ve finally solved the 
problem of our college correspondent. If you can 
keep up the way you’ve begun, the job is yours 
as long as you care to have it.” 

4 4 Thank you, I’m glad it suits you.” 

He started to say something more just then, but 
another man who Dick afterward learned was the 
city editor, interrupted him. 

4 4 Hanlon’s laid down on us,” he announced. 

4 4 What’s the trouble?” The editor appeared 
deeply concerned. 

4 4 He’s leaving town for work in the city.” 

4 4 Humph! Well, we’ll have to get some one 
else.” The city editor left the room, and the 
other man turned to Dick speculatively. 

‘‘You’ve done newspaper work before, haven’t 
you?” 


25 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

“Yes, on the Greenwood Record.” 

“What did you write ?” 

4 4 Everything. I was general reporter. ’ ’ 

“Humph! Know how to cover meetings, Com- 
mon Council and Water Board and such things ?” 

“Yes.” 

4 4 How would you like some more work with us. 
Our Highville correspondent has just quit and 
we’ll have to find another man.” 

4 4 What are his duties?” 

4 4 Covering town news of Highville. That ’s just 
across the river, you know. It means attending 
meetings one or two nights a week, keeping in 
touch with the police court and covering special 
assignments. If you care to tackle it, we ’ll double 
your salary.” 

It was a tempting offer, and for a moment the 
boy hesitated. But it was only for a moment, for 
he knew that if he accepted the new job it would 
take all of his spare time and a good deal of time 
which rightfully belonged to the college. Without 
the job, his income promised to be sufficient, with 
it he would be earning more than he really needed. 
And, in spite of his inexperience, he knew that it 
would be a big mistake to earn money to the ex- 
clusion of everything else. If a man, in working 
his way through college, is forced to give up all his 
other activities, he had better quit right away. 
For going to college simply as a business proposi- 
tion is not worth while ; it will do a boy more good 
to enter business directly. 

26 


A TWO-HUNDRED-DOLLAR IDEA 


And eo, even though Dick hated to do it, he 
shook his head. 

“I couldn’t carry it and keep up with my 
studies,” he said. 

The editor nodded understandingly. 

4 ‘You don’t look like a fellow who would do more 
than he can rightfully take care of, ’ ’ he answered. 
“I’ll have to get some one else.” 

“Maybe I can pick up some one at the college 
to help you out.” 

“All right, try it; but I haven’t much hope. A 
man has to have newspaper instinct to handle this 
kind of work.” 

“I’ll try, though.” 

“Yes, go ahead.” He looked at Dick curi- 
ously. “You’re on the football team, aren’t 
you?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, keep on. You’ll find it a big help in 
your work.” 

“I ought to get some good stories out of it.” 

“I don’t mean that. It will help you after 
graduation when you get out against real men. 
There’s nothing else in the world so good for a 
young fellow as the training he gets on the foot- 
ball field.” 

“Did you ever play, sir?” 

“No, but I wish I had. It’s a great game, and 
an education in itself. Helps a man to take hard 
knocks, to think quickly, to stand up for himself. 
If two men came to me for the same job and, other 
27 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

things being equal, one played football and the 
other didn’t, I’d pick the football player.” 

The words seemed rather strange coming from 
him, but the boy knew that he was right. Foot- 
ball is a man’s game. 

“From what I hear of this man Handford, he’s 
going to be a big help to you, too,” the editor con- 
tinued. “I’ll bet my hat that ten years from now 
you’ll remember him more vividly than any pro- 
fessor you can name.” 

He was right again, Dick decided. A football 
coach, or any coach, has more influence over a 
group of boys than many of them probably realize. 
For coaching is a serious job, and the man who 
makes a success of it is doing something very 
much worth while. 

But the conversation was cut short by the en- 
trance of a boy from the printing department with 
a batch of proof, and the editor turned to them 
hurriedly. 

“Bring your stuff down every morning,” he 
said. “Good luck to you.” 

Dick left the office with a feeling of exultation. 
The chance had been given him; whether or not 
he would make the most of it depended upon him- 
self. From now on, it was a question of work. 

He wandered through the streets of the city, 
meeting an old friend here and there, nodding to 
the men and boys whose acquaintance he had 
picked up during the last two years. Almost 
everybody had a good word to say, and all were 
28 


A TWQ-HUNDRED-DOLLAR IDEA 

anxious to find out how good the football team 
was going to be. The college was not scheduled 
to open for a week, and only a scattering of 
students, mostly football players, were back. The 
campus was deserted, so, having nothing else to 
do, Dick stopped into the college office to arrange 
the changing of his course from chemistry to 
literature. The registrar, who was only a few 
years older than he, was mighty nice about it and 
arranged the transfer without any delay. They 
talked for a long time about college matters in 
general, and the college official announced that the 
enrollment of the freshman class promised to 
break all records. 

“ We’re going to have a hard time finding rooms 
for all the new students,’ ’ he said. “Our dormi- 
tory is big enough to accommodate them, but this 
year the members of the King’s Club cannot live 
in the clubhouse.” 

“Why?” Dick asked curiously. 

“Because one of their graduates has given them 
ten thousand dollars to fix the house over, and, 
when alterations are going on, they will be forced 
to live somewhere else. ’ ’ 

“Isn’t there any house in town they can rent?” 

“Not a single one to be leased for love or money. 
There’s only one possibility. Professor Hankins, 
who lives in a big place on College Avenue, has re- 
ceived a call to a western university which he may 
accept. If he goes, his house will be for rent.” 

“Do the King’s Club men know about it?” 

29 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“Not yet. Johnson is in town looking around 
for a place for them.” 

A few minutes later Dick left the office, the germ 
of a big idea having entered his mind. He went 
directly to his room, took out a pad and pencil and 
figured for half an hour. He had found a chance 
to make big money, but the success of the plan 
depended upon his business ability combined with 
immediate action. Without stopping for his hat, 
he rushed down the stairs of the “dorm” and hur- 
ried to Professor Hankins ’ house. The Profes- 
sor, whom he knew personally, was sitting on his 
porch. He greeted his visitor cordially. 

“Pm glad to know that you came to see me as 
soon as you reached Raritan,” he began, “for I 
expect to leave for the west as soon as I can ar- 
range some business matters.” 

Dick’s heart missed a beat. He was really go- 
ing ; the plan promised to work out well. So the 
boy stated at once the object of his visit. 

“Have you leased your house to any one?” he 
asked. 

The man’s face clouded. 

“No,” he answered. “That is one of my main 
troubles. The house is so large that few persons 
would care to take it. There are twelve bedrooms 
besides the library, parlor, dining-room, and mu- 
sic-room. It is very difficult to rent such a place 
in a town like this.” 

Dick hesitated a moment before playing his 
trump card. Finally, he took a long breath and 
30 


A TWO-HUNDRED-DOLLAR IDEA 

plunged boldly ahead. He felt as if he were div- 
ing from a forty-foot platform into an icy river. 

“What will your rent be?” he asked with elab- 
orate carelessness. 

“The house/ ’ the professor answered, “is 
worth one hundred dollars a month, but in view 
of the peculiar circumstances, I would be perfectly 
willing to accept half that amount. ’ 9 

“Would you accept a lease for a year?” 

The man looked up questioningly. 

“That would be the best possible arrangement. 
My new professorship is conditional, and if cer- 
tain theories of mine are not found practical at the 
end of twelve months, I shall wish to return to 
Raritan. In that case, I shall want the house back 
again. ’ ’ 

“It surely is a great opportunity for a person 
who would want such a large place,” Dick said. 
Then he took the big step. “Will you give me a 
three-day option on the house?” 

Professor Hankins gazed at the boy in frank 
surprise. “Have you become a real estate 
agent?” he asked amusedly. 

“No, but I see a chance to make some money, 
and I need it.” 

“Has anything happened to your father?” 
The professor’s voice was full of concern, for he 
had known Doctor Arnold in college. 

“No, sir,” Dick answered. “But I have gone 
out for myself.” 

Then he told the older man something of the 
31 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

clash which had occurred on that memorable day 
out home. The professor smiled when he had fin- 
ished the story. 

i 1 I think you were wise to change, ’ ’ he declared. 
“But you are assuming a big task. Why do you 
w^ant this house ? ’ ’ 

Dick outlined the plan which he had formed less 
than an hour ago. There was a hint of admira- 
tion in the professor’s eyes when he spoke again. 

“I think that you would make a better business 
man than a doctor,” he remarked. “If you want 
an option on the house, you may have it. ’ ’ 

With a brief word of thanks, Dick left him and 
walked around to the King’s Club. Bill Johnson, 
a senior member of the society, was sitting discon- 
solately on the front porch. Already the carpen- 
ters were busy with the renovating. Bill, whom 
Dick knew fairly well, shook hands heartily. 
They talked for a few minutes of things in gen- 
eral, but finally the new arrival broached the sub- 
ject uppermost in his mind. 

“What are all the workmen doing around 
here ? ” he asked casually. 

“We’re getting the house fixed up,” Bill an- 
swered. “They’re going to turn it all inside out 
and add a new addition. ’ ’ 

“Where are you fellows going to live?” 

Bill shook his head hopelessly. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “Probably we can’t 
live together this year and will have to find rooms 
in the dormitory or about town. ’ ’ 

32 


A TtVCXHXTNIJRED-IXDIXAR IDEA 


•’Can't you rsrt a house?” 

••There isn’t a place large enough, in Raritan. 
I’ve been to every real estate Tran in tovi.” 

*~Ha v much would yon be wiling to pay for a 
tense!” 

^ Almost any amcini ant we can’t get one.” 

'“How many members have yon this year!” 

^Twenty-four or twenty-live. r T Bill glanced up 
esmousiy. ‘“Why are yon so interested? ” 
think that I can get yon a place.” 

‘‘•What I If yon can. Dick. I ll be yonr friend 
for Ere. Where is it?” 

^Professor Hark ins ’ bouse. It has twelve bed- 
rooms and it's only one block from the campus.” 

■ • Bor bow about die Prof ! ~ lia: 1 be going to 

d£>r r 

^He’s going to taacb out west, and be wants to 
rent die boose. ’ T 

BH dgded dninkfuly. 

••Gee: be ehonlated. “that’s fne. 1 1 go ever 
to see him right now.” 

“•ft won’t do any good.” Pick announced. 

~ Why? Is it taken!” 

“*Y es.” 

nl sank rack in despair. 

u ¥i:u .Ed you ted me about it for?” be de- 
manded. •'This is a serious matter with me.” 

'“Yen cm have it.” the visitor explained, “but 
not from Professor Hankins. YouTL have to rent 
it from me.” 

u Fr-n von.” 


33 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


1 ‘ Yep. I have an option on it. ’ ’ 

Bill looked puzzled. 

“What in the world are you talking about ?” he 
demanded. 

“I mean just what I say,” Dick answered. 
“I’m a business man this year. I’ve quit loafing, 
Bill, and am working my way through college. 
I see a fine chance to make some money without 
hurting anybody, and if you fellows want to take 
advantage of it, you’re welcome.” 

“What’s the idea?” 

“I’ve rented the house from Professor Hankins. 
Never mind how much I’m giving for it; that 
doesn’t matter. But here’s the proposition. 
Even if you had your own house, you’d charge 
each man two dollars and a half for room rent, 
wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes, that’s what everybody charges.” 

“Well, you have twenty-four men. If each one 
of those men gives me a dollar a week for room 
rent, I’ll let you have the house.” 

“And what do we have for general expenses?” 

“You get the difference between one dollar and 
two dollars and a half, besides your club dues. 
That gives you enough money for light, heat, and 
water rents, and nobody loses anything.” 

They talked for an hour or more before Bill 
agreed to the proposition. But finally he ad- 
mitted its fairness, and the two boys went down- 
town together to have a contract drawn up. Dick 
knew a lawyer who was a friend of his father ’s, 
34 


A TWO-HUNDRED-DOLLAR IDEA 


who did the work for nothing. When the agree- 
ment was signed, it stated that Dick Arnold was to 
receive twenty-four dollars a week from the 
King’s Club for the thirty-six weeks during which 
college was in session, a sum which amounted to 
eight hundred and sixty-four dollars. 

The arrangement seemed to be satisfactory to 
everybody. The King’s Club secured a house at 
a time when houses were almost impossible to get. 
They charged each of twenty-four men two dollars 
and fifty cents a week for room rent, the same as 
they would have charged if they had lived in their 
own house. Out of that money, they gave Dick 
eight hundred and sixty-four dollars for the house, 
which left them almost thirteen hundred dollars 
for running expenses, which was easily twice as 
much as they needed. Professor Hankins rented 
his house for a year when he thought that it would 
be almost impossible to do so. And finally, by a 
combination of luck and foresightedness, Dick 
made two hundred and sixty-four dollars. And 
he didn’t have anything to do except collect the 
money once a week. 

He considered it a good day’s work. In figures, 
the whole arrangement looked something like this : 

debit credit 

Year’s rent for Income from room 

house $600 rents $864 

Profit $264 


35 


CHAPTER IV 


THE NEW TACKLE 

C OUNTING twelve dollars a week from the 
newspaper work, Dick estimated that, to- 
gether with the unexpected income from 
house rent, his earnings for the thirty-six weeks of 
college would he six hundred and ninety-six dol- 
lars, which was an average of over eighteen dol- 
lars a week. A little more and he would have 
been a regular plutocrat. As it was, it appeared 
as if there would be sufficient money to permit him 
to live again in the fraternity house, and for a time 
he was almost determined to do so. But he de- 
cided against it eventually, for it would mean a 
return to old habits, a constant reckless spending 
of money. For try as he might, he knew that it 
would be almost impossible to live with his former 
comrades and not be one of them. They would 
find it hard to understand his new position, and 
while there was no doubt of their sympathy, he 
felt that they would simply be unable to compre- 
hend the changed conditions of his college life. 

He had just made the decision to stay where he 
was when the door of the study opened and Ted 
"White entered. Ted had been only a casual ac- 
quaintance during the past two years; Dick had 
36 


THE NEW TACKLE 


never been thrown in with him, in fact, he had 
never given him more than a passing glance. But 
now he greeted him eagerly. He was his room- 
mate, the man with whom he was to be thrown in 
continued contact during the next year or so. So 
he regarded the new arrival curiously. Ted was 
a tall, angular boy of about eighteen ; his shoulders 
were broad, his features clear-cut, his eyes strik- 
ingly blue. He wore a dark brown suit which was 
evidently new, a soft shirt and collar, and a gray 
tie. There are some fellows who can wear soft 
collars and look dressed up. Ted was one of 
them. He seemed surprised to find the other boy 
in the room. 

“ Hello, Arnold/ ’ he exclaimed. “ Looking for 
me?” 

“ Hello, Ted,” Dick answered, purposely using 
his first name. “Ihn rooming here.” They 
shook hands, and Dick liked the firm grip which 
answered his. It inspired confidence. 

“Rooming here?” Ted was frankly puzzled. 
“What’s the matter with your fraternity house?” 

“Nothing. Only I’ve decided in favor of the 
dorm. ’ ’ 

“Why?” 

For the second time that day Dick told the story 
of his sudden resolution to be a literary man in- 
stead of a chemist. Ted listened without com- 
ment. 

“But how are you going to earn money?” he 
asked finally. 


37 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“Newspaper work and business.” 

Ted was particularly interested in the story of 
the renting of King’s Club. 

“You’ll do,” he announced. “It ought to be 
clear sailing from now on.” 

“Yes, if I can stick to the job.” 

“Of course you can stick. There isn’t anything 
else to do.” 

It occurred to Dick that if Ted had tackled the 
proposition, there would have been no doubt of his 
success. His faith in his new roommate gave Dick 
renewed confidence. 

“I’m going to stick all right,” he answered. 
“That’s why I’ve broken away from the old 
crowd.” 

Ted nodded. 

“You were wise in deciding to do what you’re 
fitted for,” he said. “Too many fellows go 
through college without any definite object. The 
result is that they drift along and never get any- 
where. That’s why some people have such a poor 
idea of college students. As a rule, we’re not se- 
rious enough.” 

Dick had never thought much about it, but he 
knew that Ted was right. The fellows he had 
been accustomed to chum with were splendid boys 
and of good character, but they seldom took any- 
thing seriously. They studied just hard enough 
to get through without failing; a sixty per cent 
mark was the goal of their desire. A good many 
of them didn’t know what they were going to do 
38 


THE NEW TACKLE 


after they graduated, and, what is more, they 
didn’t care. They came to college chiefly because 
their parents wanted and expected them to come. 
Dick did not go so far as to say that they were 
without ability and that in after years they would 
grow up to be useless citizens. He knew that the 
trouble with them was that they lacked incentive, 
that they went along taking things as easily as 
possible and graduating eventually with little to 
look back upon except happy times and a training 
in social graces. 

He mentioned something of that to Ted. 

“Yes,” the other boy admitted, “most of the 
fellows you’ve known in college have been the 
happy-go-lucky kind. But we mustn’t hold that 
too much against them. It’s really the college’s 
fault as much as theirs.” 

That was a new angle, and Dick asked for an ex- 
planation. 

“In my mind it’s part of the college’s duty to 
wake those fellows up,” Ted continued. “And if 
the college doesn’t do it, then it isn’t fulfilling its 
purpose. Do you see what I’m driving at!” 

“Partly.” 

“Most of those very boys will be among the best 
graduates we have ten ‘years from now,” Ted de- 
clared. “They’ve got it in them, all right, but it 
takes until graduation to find it out. When they 
once settle down, they make good. It’s up to the 
college to make them settle down.” 

Dick had never heard a college student talk like 
39 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

that before ; over at his fraternity house the con- 
versation was mostly of football, professors, col- 
lege activities, and miscellaneous gossip. Ted 
White seemed older than his former friends, more 
mature. At any rate, he had learned how to think. 
Dick knew, after being with him less than an hour, 
that he typified another class of -students of whom 
he had hitherto been ignorant. And it came to 
him with startling clearness as Ted was speaking 
that it was this very class that is the backbone of 
every college and university — the quiet spoken, 
clear-thinking boys who live in out-of-the-way cor- 
ners of campus dormitories. 

But Ted’s next words proved that his mind held 
other thoughts besides abstract theories. 

“ You ’re out for the football team again, I sup- 
pose?” he asked. 

“Yes, trying for end.” 

“How is the new material?” 

“I haven’t seen any yet; only the regular squad 
is back. But we ’ve got a new coach and, oh boy, 
you ought to see him!” 

“What’s happened to Mr. Strong?” 

“He’s got another job.” 

“Is the new .man any good?” 

“Any good? He’s the best coach in the coun- 
try.” 

“What’s his name?” 

i ‘ Handf ord. Ever hear of him ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, I’ve met him. But how in the world did 
he come here?” 


40 


THE NEW TACKLE 


1 1 He ’s a big friend of one of our alumni. I un- 
derstand that be ’s coaching us for nothing just for 
the pleasure of it. He has a lot of money of his 
own. ’ ’ 

“ Lucky for us he has. We’d never be able to 
pay him what he’s worth. Men like him get thou- 
sands of dollars a season.” 

“How do you know so much about him?” 

“I met him three or four years ago. In high 
school I used to play a bit, and after one game 
which he happened to be watching, he introduced 
himself and told me more about football in ten 
minutes than I had learned in four years.” 

i ‘ That ’s him, all right. He ’s some man ! ’ 9 

Ted changed the subject. 

“Who’s going to take Jim Gilhooley’s place at 
tackle ? ” he asked. 

“I don’t know.” 

Jim Gilhooley was captain of the team the pre- 
ceding year, and the best tackle that ever repre- 
sented Raritan. His graduation had left a big 
gap in the line which was going to be hard to fill. 
There was no one in college good enough to fill it, 
and the one hope of the student body was that 
some one would enter with the freshman class 
whom the coach would be able to develop. But it 
was a long chance, and Dick was frankly dubious. 
Ted agreed with him. 

“You’re right,” he answered. “If Gilhooley 
had gone to one of the larger colleges he would 
have been an All-American for the past two years. 

41 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


He was one of the best linemen in the country.” 

“He sure was.” 

Ted got up from his desk and went into his bed- 
room to start unpacking. A minute or two later 
a knock sounded on the door. 

“Come in,” Dick called. 

Coach Handford entered the room and took the 
chair which the boy shoved forward for him. 

“I’m taking a look around,” he said, “and giv- 
ing the members of the squad some advice. In the 
first place, I want you all to understand that from 
this minute until the end of the season there will 
be no smoking on the team.” 

i ‘ 1 don ’t smoke, anyway. ’ ’ 

“That’s good; it’s a mighty bad habit to keep 
away from. ’ ’ His clear eyes took in every detail 
of the room. “We’re going to start a training ta- 
ble next week,” he announced. “I think it’s a 
splendid thing for the morale of the team. It will 
cost a dollar a week extra for the members of 
the squad, but it’s worth it. We’ll all be together 
in the football atmosphere, and I’ll be with you.” 

“That’s great.” Dick was frankly enthusias- 
tic. 

“You’ll all be under my wing then,” the coach 
continued. “And I’m going to enforce training 
in the strictest sense of the world. No man can 
play football unless he’s in perfect condition. 
Last year, I understand, the training rules were 
rather lax.” 

They were. There had been certain rules, of 
42 


THE NEW TACKLE 


course, but on more than one occasion one or two 
of the players would forget that they were mem- 
bers of the team and would sneak behind the gym- 
nasium for a forbidden cigarette or two. But 
Dick had an idea that such practices were things 
of the past. 

“As I see it,” the visitor continued, “Raritan 
has too much of the small college viewpoint. In a 
big university a man caught smoking would be 
dropped from the squad immediately. ’ 9 

“We’re a little different from the larger col- 
leges, of course,” the boy explained. “There 
aren’t so many men out for football here, and 
sometimes to drop a player would mean the dis- 
ruption of the team.” 

The coach’s jaw squared at that. 

“It doesn’t make any difference to me if the best 
man we’ve got is dropped,” he announced. “A 
player who isn’t fair enough to keep the recog- 
nized rules deserves to be dropped. And nothing 
under the sun is going to keep me from dropping 
him. ’ ’ 

“I’m sure the fellows will be behind you,” Dick 
hastened to assure him. 

“Yes,” he answered. “We’re going to use the 
honor system on the football field and off.” 

He was about to say more when Ted came in 
from the adjoining room. The coac'h sprang to 
his feet. 

“Ted White!” he exclaimed. “What in the 
world are you doing here?” 

43 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


Ted took his outstretched hand, smiling. 

“This is where I live/’ he answered. 

“Well, well, well!” The coach was frankly 
overjoyed. “Why weren’t you out for practice 
this afternoon?” he demanded. 

“I haven’t gone out for the team here.” 

“Haven’t gone out for the team?” There was 
amazement in the speaker’s voice. “You’re just 
the man to fill up that gap in the line. ’ ’ 

Dick looked on, amazed. Ted had never been 
near the football field as far as he could remem- 
ber, and here was the new coach talking to him 
as if he were a veteran. 

“I haven’t played football at Raritan because 
I’ve been too busy working through college,” Ted 
explained. “There wasn’t any time for foot- 
ball.” 

“We’ll find time for it. You simply have to 
play football this year.” 

“I’d like to play under you,” Ted answered. 
i 1 The team ought to be a good one. ’ ’ 

“It’s too early to say yet. But with you at 
tackle, our prospects will be a lot brighter. ’ ’ 

Ted was silent for a moment. 

“Perhaps I can come out if a plan I have in 
mind works well.” 

“What kind of plan?” 

“To make money.” 

“Can’t you wait until after football season?” 

“No, sir.” Ted looked fairly into the coach’s 
eyes. ‘ ‘ There are other things in college besides 
44 


THE NEW TACKLE 


playing football, Mr. Handford,” he said. “The 
main thing is lessons, that’s what I came here for. 
And unless I get the money to pay expenses, I 
can’t stick. I’m going to take up law when I 
graduate, not football, and preparation for law is 
the first object.” 

There was a hint of respect in the coach’s voice 
when he answered. 

“I don’t mean to overemphasize the importance 
of football,” he replied. “But you want to come 
out if you can; it will do you good.” 

“And besides, give me a lot of fun,” Ted added. 
“I’d rather play football than eat, and I’m hoping 
to make the team this year.” He hesitated for a 
moment. “I’ll come out until college starts, any- 
way, and then, if my plan works, I’ll stick for the 
season.” 

“That’s fine.” There was relief in the coach’s 
voice. “Have you played at all during the past 
two years ? ’ ’ 

“No, I haven’t played, but I’ve helped coach a 
high school team. That has kept me in touch with 
the game. ’ ’ 

“What kind of shape are you in?” 

1 i Fine. ’ ’ 

“Can you punt as well as you used to?” 

“I think so.” 

“Good work!” The coach turned to Hick. “I 
think we’ve found the man to take Gilhooley’s 
place,” he said happily. 

“That’s great stuff.” Dick looked wonder- 
46 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

ingly at Ted. “Why didn’t yon let us know you 
could play football!” 

“If I had, the fellows would have wanted me to 
come out for the team,” Ted answered. “And I 
couldn ’t have done it. ’ 9 

“White here was the best schoolboy tackle I 
have ever seen,” Coach Handford put in. “And 
he can kick the ball a mile.” 

“Where did he play!” 

“On a little high school team up in New Eng- 
land. I happened to be visiting there one day 
during the fall, and I saw him win a game all by 
himself. I met him afterwards and promised to 
keep in touch with him, but I dropped all football 
matters for a time because of business and lost 
track of him. 9 ’ He turned again to Ted. 6 ‘ How 
much do you weigh ! 9 9 

‘ 1 One hundred and ninety-six . 9 y 

Dick was surprised. Ted did not look to be 
nearly so heavy as that. 

“Where do you keep it all!” he demanded. 

The coach smiled. 

“He’s solid,” he explained shortly. “All beef 
and bone.” 

Ted looked just a little embarrassed. 

“I’m bigger than you, Dick,” he put in. 

“Just about the right size for what we want,” 
the coach remarked. “You say you’re in good 
shape ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, sir.” 

“What did you do all summer!” 

46 


THE NEW TACKLE 


44 Worked on a farm.” 

4 4 Good ! That ’s a real job. ’ y The coach arose. 
44 You two boys come on to the gym with me now,” 
he directed, 4 4 and we’ll fit White out in a foot- 
ball suit.” 

Together they made their way across the 
campus to the gymnasium. In the locker room 
Ted donned a varsity suit which the manager gave 
him. In football togs he looked every pound his 
weight; heavy muscles stood out all over him; 
there was a suggestion of latent strength and 
power about him which Dick had not noticed be- 
fore. He walked to the field with the swinging 
stride which denotes a born athlete. Handford 
gave him the ball and bade him kick it. Ted 
grasped it as if the pigskin was an old friend, 
swung his leg gracefully, took a single step for- 
ward, and sent it soaring down the field for a good 
sixty yards. The coach chuckled gleefully. 

4 4 We’ve not only found a good tackle,” he said, 
4 4 but we’ve got the best kicker in the country. 
You men pass the ball around a bit and get White 
used to the feel of it.” 

For an hour or so Ted and Dick tried forward 
passing, punting, and drop kicking. One could see 
at first glance that Ted knew how to handle him- 
self on the football field ; he was graceful with that 
awkward kind of grace which accomplishes things. 
He carried his big body well, clung to the ball 
whenever it came his way, never fumbled. And 
how he could kick ! Jim Gilhooley in his palmiest 
47 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


days could not have equaled his punts in height 
or distance. And moreover, Ted got them off 
swiftly, a single step, a swing of his leg, and the 
ball sailed down the field. 

Something of the sacrifice which Ted must have 
made in keeping away from the football squad 
during his first two years at Raritan came to Dick 
Arnold. He wondered if there were other men 
like Ted in college, men with ability and experi- 
ence who were kept from active participation in 
their chosen sports because of financial or other 
reasons. 

Probably there were, but at any rate, Dick de- 
cided Ted must not be kept from playing during 
the coming season. 

“ You’ve simply got to play, Ted,” he told his 
roommate. 

Ted frowned anxiously. 

“I only hope that I can,” he answered simply. 
But there was a world of yearning in his voice. 


CHAPTER V 


THE BIG FKESHMAH 

E VERY afternoon for tlie next week, Ted 
went out for the football team. It was 
evident from the very first that the 
coach’s confidence in him had not been misplaced. 
As a lineman, he promised to be fully as good as 
the great Gilhooley; and in addition to his ability 
to block and charge, he could kick the ball farther 
and more accurately than any man Dick had ever 
seen. He was the big find of the season, and 
Handy (as the players had learned to call the 
coach) was tickled to death about him. Occasion- 
ally Ted mentioned the plan whereby he hoped to 
earn enough money to permit him to play football. 
He seemed rather dubious over the success of the 
scheme, however, and kept his ideas to himself. 

“I can’t do anything until the fellows come 
back to college and start eating,” he said. “But 
a week after the term opens I’ll know whether I 
can play or not.” 

On Tuesday morning the students began to drift 
into town. They strolled across the campus in 
groups of threes or fours, stopping frequently to 
exchange greetings and tell about their summer 
49 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


work or play. During the early afternoon Dick 
went over to the fraternity house where he told his 
former associates about his changed plans for the 
year. They expressed themselves as sorry that 
he would not be able to live with them, but each 
and every one shook hands heartily and wished 
him the best of success. They were friends worth 
having, and suddenly the boy realized that, in 
spite of their careless, carefree attitudes, they 
were real men under the skin. 

Later, when he reported for football practice, 
the field was dotted with onlookers. Among the 
freshman group was one big boy who towered 
giantlike above the others. He appeared to have 
a marvelous physique, and several of the players 
expressed surprise that he was not out for the 
team. He looked like a real possibility, so after 
a time Ted and Dick walked over to where he was 
standing. 

“You ought to be wearing a football suit,” Ted 
announced. “Aren’t you going to try for the 
team?” 

“I don’t think so.” The freshman appeared 
embarrassed. “I played a little in high school, 
but I wasn’t much good.” 

Ted shook his head. 

“You’re too big to be standing on the side- 
lines,” he said. “You ought to come out. If you 
have it in you, Handy will make you a real foot- 
ball player. ’ ’ 

“Maybe I’ll come out to-morrow.” 

50 


THE BIG FRESHMAN 


“Maybe you will.” Ted smiled grimly. 
“What’s your name! I’ll look you up in the 
morning. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Percy Vanderwart. ’ ’ 

Ted looked over at Dick and winked slyly. 

“A name like that is a pretty big handicap,” 
he announced. “But I’ll look you up just the 
same.” 

Vanderwart turned away and tried to lose him- 
self in a crowd of his classmates, and after he had 
gone Ted smiled openly. 

‘ ‘ I never knew yet of a man named Percy who 
could play football, ’ ’ he remarked. “But perhaps 
this fellow’s different. He’s big enough, any- 
way.” 

“He doesn’t seem to have much pep,” Dick ven- 
tured. “Maybe he isn’t a fighter.” 

“If he isn’t, we’ll make him one.” Ted turned 
toward the field. “What’s the trouble over 
there!” he asked suddenly. 

The entire football squad was grouped around 
the coach, who had just come from the gymnasium. 
And as the two boys arrived on the scene, he ad- 
dressed the players. 

“I visited each one of you personally last 
week,” he announced, “and told you that smoking 
would not be tolerated on this team. Ten min- 
utes ago, while walking by the gymnasium, I saw a 
group of boys puffing on cigarettes, and one of 
them was a member of the football squad. Is 
Smith here!” 


51 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“Yes, sir.” 

Jim Smith, one of the half backs, stepped for- 
ward with assumed carelessness. The coach’s 
eyes flashed. 

“You were caught red-handed breaking train- 
ing rules,” he announced. “You will now walk 
to the gymnasium, hand over your suit to the man- 
ager, and consider yourself no longer a member 
of this team.” 

“But, Mr. Handford — ” 
i 1 There are no buts. My order is final. ’ ’ 

The players looked at one another in mingled 
amazement and consternation. Jim Smith was 
the best half back on the team ; his loss would be a 
blow to the chances for a winning season. It did 
not seem possible that the coach would stand by 
his words. But he showed no inclination to back 
down. He waited quietly while Jim Smith stood 
irresolute, his face crimson, his lips set in a 
straight line. For a moment Jim looked around 
defiantly. Then, with a gesture that indicated 
that the blame for the incident was not his, he 
turned and made his way to the gymnasium. 
Handy turned to the squad. 

“Men,” he said not unkindly, “I am in dead 
earnest when I say that no player on this team 
shall smoke. More games are lost by poor condi- 
tion than for any other reason. I want real men 
— men I can count upon to keep their given word. 
Smith’s loss is a big one, but we shall have to get 
along without him. I would far rather have a 
52 


THE BIG FRESHMAN 


team lose every game on the schedule than to go 
through the season without a defeat at the expense 
of sacrificed principles/ ’ His tone changed. 
“Come on, men, let’s get to work,” he suggested 
crisply. 

The practice that afternoon was the best of the 
week. The men probably had not realized until 
then just how much in earnest the coach was. But 
they knew by the incident they had just witnessed 
that Handf ord would tolerate no foolishness ; that 
not a single player on the team was sure of his 
place; that no man was too good to be dropped 
should the occasion arise. So they threw them- 
selves heart and soul into the work at hand, and 
when the practice was over they were tired but 
satisfied. 

On the way to the gym Ted White remarked 
that it served Smith right. 

“A fellow who would sneak behind a building to 
smoke a cigarette is just the kind who would try 
something underhanded in a football game,” he 
said. “And we don’t want any muckers on our 
team. ’ ’ 

Dick’s feeling of respect for Ted deepened. 
The more he saw of the other boy, the more of a 
man he proved to be. 

After a warm shower and cold plunge in the 
pool, the two of them walked slowly toward the 
college dining hall, and on the way overtook the 
big freshman whom they had noticed at practice. 
Ted greeted him pleasantly. 

53 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

“Are you going in the rush to-night ?” he 
asked. 

“What rush?” 

Ted grinned. 

“Don’t you know anyihmg about college?” he 
asked curiously. 

“Not a thing.” 

“Where do you come from?” 

“New York.” 

“Haven’t you any friends here at Raritan?” 

“Not a one.” 

Ted turned to his roommate. 

“Dick,” he said, with the hint of a twinkle in 
his eye, “we’ll have to keep an eye on this little 
fellow here. The Sophs might kidnap him.” 

They ate at the training table and so did not see 
Yan, as Ted nicknamed him, until after supper. 
But then they took him upstairs with them and 
told him to put on the oldest clothes he could find. 
Much to their amazement, he demurred. 

i ‘ Tell me something about this rush, ’ ’ he said. 

“Well,” Ted explained, “on the night before 
college formally opens, the sophomores wander 
around town and paste up proclamations which 
state crudely, although emphatically, just what 
the freshies are supposed to do during the year. 
At eight o’clock the freshmen meet behind the 
gym and organize searching parties who try to 
tear down the proclamations after they have found 
them. If a party of freshmen happen to meet a 
gang of sophomores, they have a fight.” 

54 


THE BIG FRESHMAN 


“It isn’t a real fight, is it?” 

Ted chuckled. 

“Well,” he answered, “if you get in one, you 
can judge for yourself.” 

“Do people get hurt?” 

“Very seldom. It’s really only a wrestling 
match. ’ ’ 

“But what’s the purpose of it all?” 

“At ten o’clock, both classes meet on the Kings 
Campus. The Sophs carry a flag which the fresh- 
men try to take away from them. The class which 
has possession of the flag at the end of twenty 
minutes wins the rush.” 

“Oh, I see!” 

He didn’t appear to be very enthusiastic, how- 
ever, so Ted tried to stir him up. 

“It’s more fun than a country circus,” he said. 
“You ought to have a great time; you’re big 
enough.” 

“I know, but I’m not crazy about the rough 
stuff.” 

Ted frowned. 

“It doesn’t make any difference whether you 
like it or not,” he announced dryly. 

Van looked surprised. 

“You don’t mean to say I have to go in?” 

“You sure do.” Ted spoke emphatically. 

“Why?” 

“Class spirit, man— class spirit.” Ted w&s be- 
ginning to get a bit irritated, so Dick took a hand. 

“If you don’t go in, and people find out about 
55 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

it,” lie explained, “you’ll be the most unpopular 
man in your class.” 

The freshman sighed resignedly. 

“Well,” he decided, “I suppose I’ll have to do 
it. But I don’t see much sense in it. ” 

He left the room for his own quarters across the 
hall, and Ted looked after him questioningly. 

“He’s yellow,” Dick announced. 

But Ted shook his head. 

“I don’t think so,” he answered. “He’s just 
lazy. ’ ’ 

“But didn’t you see how he tried to get out of 
it as soon as you mentioned fight ? ’ ’ 

Ted, however, refused to commit himself. 

“A fellow with a chin like his can’t be a quit- 
ter,” he maintained. “He’s just lazy and needs 
•something to stir him up. ’ ’ 

“Well,” Dick remarked, “if he goes in the rush 
to-night he’ll have all the stirring up he wants for 
a month.” 

“This is only the beginning,” Ted answered 
grimly. “I’m going to make that boy one of the 
best football players that ever wore the scarlet of 
Raritan. ’ ’ 

“Even though his name is Percy?” 

“Yes, by George. I ’d make something of him if 
his name was Algernon.” 

But Dick was doubtful. The big freshman was 
too shy, too retiring, to be a football player. He 
didn’t seem to be of the stuff of which men 
are made. 


56 


THE BIG FRESHMAN 


In ten minntes lie was back dressed in the oldest 
togs he could find. He wore dilapidated corduroy 
trousers, heavy walking shoes, and a gray jersey 
with stripes of red across the sleeves. 

“If the Sophs once set their eyes on that jersey, 
they 11 tear it off your back,” Dick announced. 
“Freshmen aren’t allowed to wear red; it’s the 
college color.” 

Ted shot his roommate a warning glance. 

“They’ll never notice it,” he put in. “Take a 
chance and keep it on, Van.” 

On the way to the gymnasium, Ted drew Dick 
to one side. 

“We’ll show those red stripes to the sopho- 
mores after a while,” he whispered. “And 
they’ll light into Van like fury. Then we can see 
how he takes it.” 

Behind the gymnasium, all was confusion. A 
hundred or more freshmen were gathered to- 
gether, slightly apprehensive of what was in store 
for them, but putting on a brave front in the pres- 
ence of the members of the junior class. It was 
so dark that each new arrival looked like a shadow 
looming out of the near distance. The night was 
overcast, not a star shone from the sky. It was 
hot, too, and Dick didn’t envy in the least the one 
hundred and fifty more Freshies and Sophs who 
were scheduled to meet in combat on the campus 
grounds. 

At nine o’clock, the juniors divided the fresh- 
men into groups, and with one or two upper class- 
57 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


men leading each band, sallied forth in search of 
the rival class. There were abont fifteen boys in 
the crowd assigned to Ted and Dick, and they were 
glad to know that Van was among them. They 
wanted to see what he would do under fire. The 
band followed the river up to the old drawbridge, 
but not a sign of a proclamation did they see. But 
finally, when they had just about given up hope, 
Ted discovered six figures climbing over the fence 
of the athletic field. They looked very much like 
sophomores, so the freshmen started out in full 
pursuit. The rival classmen heard them coming 
and tried to run, but one of their members caught 
his trousers on the barbed wire at the top of the 
fence. The others, not caring to leave him, stood 
by their guns, and a brief battle ensued. But the 
first year men were too many for them, and finally 
they turned tail and disappeared into the sur- 
rounding darkness, leaving two proclamations and 
a pail of paste behind them. Ted took the proc 
and read it to the freshmen. It was the usual 
elaborate admonition against wearing the college 
colors, about learning the songs and cheers before 
the first football game, tipping hats to upper class- 
men, and all the other rules that sophomore 
classes have laid down since time immemorial. 

What interested Dick especially was the way in 
which Vanderwart acted. When his classmates 
started to run for the Sophs, he was the last of the 
crowd, and in the brief scramble which followed he 
had not even been mussed up. 

58 


THE BIG FRESHMAN 


“Your freshman friend seems to be something 
of a failure in the matter of class spirit/ ' Dick 
announced rather sarcastically to Ted. “His 
hands aren't even dirty." 

For the first time, Ted looked a trifle dubious. 
But he stuck to his colors. 

“He needs to be educated up to it," he affirmed. 
“You just wait." 

It was almost ten o'clock, so they hurried down 
to the Kings Campus where the main rush was go- 
ing to be held. The sophs were already there, 
grouped around the old cannon, with the flag hid- 
den in their midst. The two upper classes were 
out in full force, the juniors marshaling the fresh- 
men, and the seniors giving the second-year men 
some friendly advice. There is something about 
the first night of college which never failed to 
make a big impression upon Dick Arnold's mind. 
Perhaps it was because of his own vivid memories 
of his first proclamation rush. The air of confu- 
sion which permeates the campus ; the atmosphere 
of expectancy, of not knowing what will happen 
next; hoarse voices calling commands which are 
only half understood — and with it all, the feeling 
of newness, the hint of lonesomeness ! It is some- 
thing which no freshman should miss, something 
they all remember long after other things have 
been forgotten. 

Finally, the president of the senior class, who 
was referee of the rush, blew a shrill whistle. The 
sophs fell in a heap on top of the flag; the fresh- 
59 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


man advanced, chanting their class yell. They 
had just twenty minutes to pull the sophs from 
the flag and secure possession of it for themselves. 
The skirmishers of the defending class, those who 
were not grouped immediately around the flag, met 
the first line of freshmen and engaged them in 
conflict. They rolled around the ground to the 
accompanying yells of the onlookers. Other mem- 
bers of the attacking party, brushing aside the 
outer guard, leaped pell-mell into the heaving 
mass. One featherweight freshie, willing to die 
for his class, was carried on the shoulders of two 
others, and hurled bodily on top of the heap. He 
squirmed into the pile and was lost to sight. 

Yells rent the quiet of the night, shirts ripped 
ominously and were tossed into the air. Occa- 
sionally two boys emerged from the heap, locked 
in deadly embrace, to settle the matter of class su- 
premacy of their own accord. As soon as one of 
them was pinned helplessly to the ground, the up- 
per classmen took a hand and dragged off his op- 
ponent. And in most such cases, the battle began 
again. 

The freshmen were superior in numbers, but the 
sophs, knowing one another, held the strategic ad- 
vantage. The only way in which a freshman could 
tell his own classmate was to ask him what he was. 
If he answered, “Freshman,” he was released and 
pushed into the heap again; if he refused to an- 
swer, he was pulled from the mass and kept away 
from the treasured flag. 

60 


THE BIG FRESHMAN 


Fifteen minutes passed. It was impossible to 
see which side had more hands on the flag, but the 
sophomores seemed to be getting the worst of it. 
Time and again two or more freshies seized a leg, 
and a few seconds later its owner emerged, puffing 
and gasping. 

Dick looked around for Van. At first he was 
not to be seen, but finally, upon seeking aid from 
Ted, he discovered him on the edge of the main 
heap. The big freshman was hemmed in on all 
sides, swayed this way and that by the whim of the 
crowd. He wasn’t fighting at all, just standing 
with his hands held outstretched. Occasionally 
he would make a grab at some shirt, but even Ted 
was forced to admit that he was making a mighty 
poor showing. 

“I told you your freshman was a quitter,” Dick 
chided. “He isn’t even fighting.” 

“ Wait a minute. ” Ted shut his lips grimly and 
motioned to a sophomore who happened to be 
standing near. 

“See that freshman, the big fellow,” he said. 
“He’s got red on his jersey.” 

The sophomore gave a wild whoop and plunged 
into the crowd. 

“Sophomores, this way!” he bellowed. “Get 
the big freshman. He ’s got red on his shirt. ’ ’ 

Other sophomores grouped around their leader. 
One of them reached forth and seized Van’s jer- 
sey. The others laid eager hands upon it and 
pulled with all their might. Van, unable to turn, 
61 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


felt himself irresistibly drawn from the mass. He 
reached out wildly and seized a protesting class- 
mate, but the sophs were obdurate. Gradually 
they forced the freshman out in the open, and 
there fell upon him with might and main. Seizing 
his jersey in front, back, and side, they pulled des- 
perately. Swayed this way and that by the sud- 
den attack, Van was tossed about helplessly. He 
made no attempt to defend himself; his face ex- 
pressed annoyance, but that was all. Suddenly 
his jersey ripped up the back, and the crowd yelled. 
The Sophs, renewing their attack, jerked and jos- 
tled to their heart’s content, and suddenly the re- 
mains of Van’s jersey -slipped over his head. The 
big freshman, naked to the waist, stood bewildered. 
Even in that moment Dick noticed the wonderful 
development of his arms and shoulders ; he looked 
like a modern Hercules, needing only the element 
of courage to go in and win the battle single- 
handed. 

But he appeared dazed; he simply stood there 
as the laughing-stock of the crowd. 

“Get the big boob!” some one yelled. “Drag 
him across the campus.” 

Then one of the sophomores made a -mistake. 
Inspired by the chance to make himself conspicu- 
ous, he leaped upon Van. As he did so, his elbow 
struck Van’s mouth, drawing blood. 

Then something happened. The fighting spirit 
which Ted had counted so much upon came to the 
surface. Van saw red. 


62 


CHAPTER VI 

TED WHITE'S SCHEME 

W ITH a bellow of rag© that could be 
heard halfway across the campus, the 
big freshman grasped the arms of the 
boy who had struck him, broke his grip as easily 
as if the latter had been an infant, took him in his 
arms and hurled him away, six feet over the heads 
of the crowd. Then, while the spectators looked 
on in amazement, he plunged into the struggling 
heap around the flag. 

Sophomores and freshmen suddenly felt a new 
impetus to the battle. Van played no favorites; 
one after another he bodily picked boys from the 
heaving mass and tossed them aside. The sopho- 
mores leaped upon him, but he shook them off 
easily, without apparent effort. Straight to the 
center of the mob he made his way, his head low- 
ered, his powerful arms brushing aside all ob- 
stacles. Reaching his goal, he bent down and 
seized the flag in both of his monstrous hands. 
A member of the rival class, who had been grasp- 
ing it, refused to relinquish his hold. Van picked 
him up, shook him like a rat, and pushed him 
against a classmate who had rallied to his aid. 
63 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

The two of them went down as if a locomotive had 
struck them. Then, while juniors and seniors 
alike exhorted him to keep it up, Van rolled the 
flag into a small ball, held it in his right hand, and 
dared the sophomores to take it from him. 

It seemed to those who were watching that Van 
did not know exactly what he was doing. His 
usually impassive face was alive with anima- 
tion, his eyes shone with unnatural excitement. 
Stripped to the waist, with muscles bulging, he 
stood with feet apart waiting for the second-year 
men to begin a new attack. 

And the sophomores, rallying their forces, ac- 
cepted his challenge. Their only chance was to 
overpower him by sheer weight of numbers ; and 
had they been permitted to throw their entire mass 
against him, it is probable that he would have been 
dragged to the ground and the flag ripped from 
his grasp. But the freshman class as a whole was 
still to be reckoned with. They had been sur- 
prised but not disorganized by Van’s unex- 
pected sortie, and they recovered themselves in- 
stantly. 

“He’s a freshman!” some one yelled. “Come 
on, men ! ’ ’ 

They rushed forward, grouping themsejves 
around their new-found leader. When the sophs 
began their attack, the freshmen, outnumbering 
them, were waiting. Each advance was broken up 
before it started, and if by chance one of the at- 
tacking force managed to get close to Van, he 
64 


TED .WHITE’S SCHEME 


simply picked him up and heaved him back against 
his followers. 

The crowd was wild with excitement. Nothing 
approaching it had ever happened on the Raritan 
campus. There had been class rushes, to be sure, 
but never one the equal of this. Juniors and 
seniors, dancing excitedly around the circle, added 
their voices to the thunderous uproar and yelled 
desperately for Van to ‘ ‘ go to it . 1 9 The big fresh- 
man was the hero of the hour. 

Suddenly the whistle blew, and the senior presi- 
dent advanced to Van’s side. 

“ The freshmen win the rush, two to nothing,” 
he announced. u That will be all for to-night.” 

At the words of the college leader, Van drew a 
dirt-streaked hand across his forehead, tossed the 
flag to one of his classmates, and strode across 
the campus to the dormitory. Ted and Dick fol- 
lowed in his wake. 

The giant freshman went directly to his room 
and closed the door. But it was hardly good eti- 
quette for a freshman to try to shut out an upper 
classman, so the two other boys pushed open the 
door and followed Van into his study. He had 
thrown off his dirt-begrimed clothing and had 
wrapped himself in his bathrobe preparatory to 
taking a shower. If he saw his visitors, he gave 
no indication of it, for he disappeared into his bed- 
room and emerged a minute later with a towel al- 
most as big as himself. He seemed to be in a 
daze; without so much as a glance around the 
65 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

room, he bolted through the door and hastened 
toward the showers. Ted grinned. 

“He hasn’t come down to earth yet,” he re- 
marked. “But I guess you’re wrong about him 
being a quitter, aren’t you, Dick?” 

“I sure am. If he ever feels that way in a foot- 
ball game, I wouldn’t want to be on the other 
side. ’ ’ 

A few minutes later Van returned, the dirt 
washed from his face, his skin glowing healthily. 
When he saw the two juniors, he appeared embar- 
rassed. 

“Did you see the rush?” he asked. 

“You just bet we did!” Ted answered enthusi- 
astically. “Boy, you’re going to be the hero of 
the freshman class.” 

A shadow of annoyance crept over Van’s face. 

“I suppose I made a fool of myself,” he said 
slowly. “I got mad, I guess.” 

“Got mad? I should say you did!” Ted 
chuckled at the recollection. “You won the rush 
single-handed. ’ ’ 

“I wish I hadn’t done it,” Van said seriously. 
“I don’t like to be conspicuous.” 

“A fellow your size can’t help standing out in a 
crowd,” Dick answered. “And you might better 
be known as game than yellow. ’ ’ 

“We’ll expect big things of you on the football 
field,” Ted warned him. 

But Van shook his head. 

“I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed,” he said. 

66 


TED WHITE’S SCHEME 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be much of a football 
player.” 

“Nonsense ! You ’re big enough, and you ’ve got 
the grit. All you need is a little work. You’ve 
played before, haven’t you?” 

“Yes, I was a guard in high school. But even 
there, I didn’t stand out any.” 

* i Don ’t you like the game ? ’ ’ 

“No, I never saw much to it.” 

“Didn’t you ever get worked up? Doesn’t the 
feel of the ball thrill you any?” 

“Not a bit.” 

“What’s the trouble?” 

“I don’t know.” Van shook his head hope- 
lessly. “I’ve never cared much for athletics of 
any kind. But in school the fellows kept after me 
and so I went out.” 

“You’re lazy,” Ted decided. “What you need 
is a little football a la Handford.” 

“I’d rather not go out for the team.” 

“You have to. ’ ’ Ted spoke earnestly. ‘ 6 In col- 
lege, Van, it isn’t what a man wants to do that 
counts. It’s what he ought to do.” 

Van looked puzzled. 

“I don’t get you,” he said. 

“I mean that there are other things besides our- 
selves to consider. College spirit, for instance.” 

“How does that come in.” 

“It comes in everywhere.” Ted was silent for 
a moment. “When you come to college,” he re- 
sumed, “you’re a college man. And if you’re go- 
67 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

ing to make a success of four years here, you’ve 
got to put something into them as well as take 
something out. That’s what we mean by college 
spirit, putting your college ahead of yourself — 
working and fighting for Raritan.” 

“I never thought of it just that way. You 
mean that it’s my duty to go out for football ?” 

“Yes; a duty and a privilege. And ten years 
after you graduate, you’ll look back upon those 
football days as the best part of college.” 

“I hope so. But — but I don’t think I’ll make 
the team.” 

“It doesn’t make any difference whether you do 
or not,” Ted answered. “You can play on the 
scrub, at least. ’ ’ 

“But is that doing something for the college?” 

“You just bet it is. Fellows on the scrub are 
doing just as much as the best varsity men that 
ever lived. They take all the hard knocks and 
miss out in all the glory. But they’re the back- 
bone of our football success; without them every 
season would be a failure.” 

“One of the best men who ever came to Raritan 
played four years on the football scrub and never 
got in a single varsity game,” Dick announced. 
“When the vote was taken in the senior class for 
the man who had done most for Raritan, he was 
the fellow named. But outside of the college, no 
one ever heard of him.” 

Van nodded. 

“I’m beginning to see things a little more 
68 


TED WHITE’S SCHEME 


clearly,’ ’ he said. “In high school there was a 
lot of fuss made about school spirit, hut as far as 
I could find out, it consisted chiefly of sitting in 
the grandstand and making a lot of noise. But 
real school or college spirit means more than that ; 
I see it now.” 

“And you’re coming out for the team?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good!” Ted nodded satisfiedly. “You’ll 
make it, too, take it from me. All you have to do 
is to wake up. ’ ’ 

‘ 4 But I don ’t wake up very often. ” Van smiled 
disparagingly. 

“You’ll do, just the same.” Ted arose. “I 
guess we’ll turn in. Come on, Dick.” 

They made their way back to the room together. 
For the next hour or so Dick pounded the type- 
writer, for the Raritan Times would expect a big 
story of the Proclamation Rush. The boy’s news- 
paper work was going along fine, and the position 
was practically assured. Ted sat at his desk on 
the other side of the room, figuring. When Dick 
had drawn the last sheet of paper from the ma- 
chine, Ted turned in his chair. 

“I think that I’ve found a way to earn about 
eight hundred dollars without doing much actual 
work,” he announced. “ It looks like a great 
scheme. ’ ’ 

“It surely must be if you can make that much. 
What’s your plan?” Dick had thought that his 
real estate deal was about the best thing around 
69 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


the campus, but Ted evidently promised to go him 
one better. 

'“Ever since I have been in college,” Ted an- 
nounced, “the fellows eating in the dining hall 
have complained about the water. ’ 7 

“I know; it’s the worst stuff that I’ve ever 
tasted. ’ 7 

The one bad feature about Raritan in those days 
was the quality of the water, which was taken from 
a near-by river and was apparently poorly filtered. 
In the spring it was almost muddy, and a good 
many of the students were in the habit of buying 
bottles of prepared spring water which was served 
at the table during meals. The city promised to 
install a new filtering plant, but as yet nothing had 
been done. 

“Well,” Ted continued, “you know that a good 
many of the fellows buy special spring water. 
I’m going to be a water man and supply them 
cheaper than they can be supplied anywhere else.” 

“How?” 

“By giving them all the artesian well water 
they can drink, at thirty cents a week . 7 7 

“Where are you going to get the water?” 

“I’ve got it already. You know the big well in 
the President’s yard. It’s just across the street 
and I can cart water from there.” 

“Did the President say you could?” 

“Yes, I’ve had his permission to go ahead.” 

The scheme struck Dick as a mighty good one, 
and he wondered that some one had not thought of 
70 


TED WHITE’S SCHEME 


it before. Only three years ago, the president of 
the college had installed a well in the rear of his 
house, which was only a stone’s throw from the 
college dining hall. Many of the student’s clubs 
were in the habit of getting water from the well, 
and it seemed strange that the manager of the 
Commons, as the dining room was called, had not 
taken advantage of its nearness. But he probably 
figured that it would be too much trouble to cart 
water without additional charge, and he was not 
wise enough to see that it might be made into a 
money-making scheme. 

“I’ve got it all figured out,” Ted continued. 
“There are about three hundred and fifty students 
eating in the Commons. Practically every one of 
them has kicked about the water at one time or 
another, and at least half can afford to pay for 
some good stuff. Five cents a day doesn’t mean 
anything to them. ’ ’ 

“But how are you going to get it over from the 
well?” 

“That’s all fixed up. I’ve received permission 
from the college authorities to keep almost any 
number of bottles in the ice chest in the kitchen. 
I can have the water carted at any time. The 
manager of the Commons will serve it. All I have 
to do is to collect the money.” 

“But it will cost you something for cartage.” 

“Yes, but not very much. Here is how I figured 
it out. I *;a n buy a cart for twenty-five dollars, 
and I’ve already hired two freshmen who will 
71 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

carry the water from the well to the dormitory for 
four dollars a week each. I’ll have to buy some 
bottles, which will cost about thirty-five dollars, 
and I imagine that incidentals will amount to fif- 
teen dollars more. For the thirty-six weeks, it 
will cost me two hundred and eighty-eight dollars 
for help and about one hundred dollars for other 
expenses.” 

“It looks good to me,” Dick remarked. 

“Yes,” Ted continued enthusiastically, “and 
supposing one hundred and fifty boys out of the 
three hundred and fifty take the water. At thirty 
cents each, I will take in forty-five dollars every 
week, making a total for the college year of one 
thousand, six hundred and twenty dollars. My 
expenses will be about three hundred dollars, 
which leaves me a profit of over twelve hundred 
dollars. ’ ’ 

Dick walked across the room and held out his 
hand. 

“Ted, it seems almost too good to be true. I 
only hope that you can work it.” 

“I'm fairly sure that I can,” Ted answered hap- 
pily. “I’ve been over the ground pretty care- 
fully, and I don’t see any place where my plans 
can go wrong. ’ ’ 

For a long while after Ted’s announcement, they 
talked over the scheme, and the more they consid- 
ered it, the better it looked. 

“It doesn’t seem so very hard to make money 
in college, if a fellow keeps his eyes open,” Dick 
72 


TED WHITE’S SCHEME 

remarked. “I wonder why so many students 
don’t try their hand at earning something.” 

“If everybody tried to earn his way, all the jobs 
would be taken and there wouldn ’t be any left for 
the men who need them,” Ted answered. “There 
are lots of boys who have to work mighty hard to 
earn anything. Look at me, for instance. After 
the coaching job was over with, I fixed furnaces 
and cut grass. They were the only things I could 
find.” 

4 ‘ How did you happen to think about the water 
proposition?” 

“It came to me this summer. In the nights, 
when there wasn’t anything to do, I’d think about 
it until I could hardly wait until college opened. 
The best part of it was it would give me a chance 
to play football.” 

“Don’t you get any help from home?” Dick 
asked. 

“No,” Ted answered, “not a cent. I even buy 
my own clothes. I’ve never looked the way I 
wanted to because I couldn’t afford to buy good 
clothes. With my first week’s profit I’m going to 
buy a new suit.” 

“Are there many fellows earning their way here 
at Raritan?” 

Ted considered for a moment. 

“I should say about twenty are paying every bit 
of their own expenses, and that fully seventy-five 
more are earning part of their way.” 

“Do you know many of them?” 

73 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“Yes, pretty well.” 

“What kind of fellows are they?” 

“The best bunch of boys in college.” Ted’s 
voice rang with sincerity. ‘ 4 Do you know, Dick, ’ ’ 
he continued, “that a fellow has to be very much 
of a man to try to get an education on his own 
hook. It’s hard enough to stay in college, any- 
way — the lessons are no cinch — but these fellows 
who are working their way have to study and work 
at the same time. It isn’t any fun to spend five or 
six hours in classes, and then mow lawns until 
dark. ’ ’ 

“I know it isn’t.” 

“And the boys who work their way are clean, 
too. They haven’t any money to waste on cig- 
arettes, and they don’t go downtown every night 
just to be sociable. They form habits which stay 
with them all their lives, and when they graduate, 
they’re much better equipped than the big major- 
ity of the other men. ’ ’ 

“I’d like to meet some of them,” Dick said. 
“Bring them in some time, will you, Ted?” 

“I sure will,” Ted answered. He glanced at 
Dick, a curious expression on his face. “You’ve 
changed a lot from last year,” he remarked. 
“You’re twice the man you were then.” 

“Nonsense!” Dick rose. “I’m going to turn 
in. Good night, Ted.” 

He held out his hand and the other boy took it. 
There was no especial reason why they should 
have done it just then, but somehow they both felt 
74 


TED WHITE’S SCHEME 


that they wanted to. Ted White, whom Dick Ar- 
nold had hardly known for two years, was gradu- 
ally becoming his one big friend. 

Dick was late for breakfast the next morning, 
so he didn’t see Ted until after lunch. But then 
his roommate was all enthusiasm. 

“I’ve already signed up one hundred and thirty- 
six fellows,” he announced, “and the success of 
the plan is assured.’ ’ 

Ted was hardly more pleased than Dick. It 
meant that he would not have to bother about 
money for the remainder of the year — and it 
meant, too, that he would be able to play football. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE BEGINNING OF A PROBLEM 

P ERCY VANDERWART had suddenly be- 
come the best known member of the fresh- 
man class. Everybody from the football 
coach to the head janitor had heard about his feat 
of the opening night of college, and even the up- 
per classmen stopped to speak to him on the cam- 
pus. Whether he wished it or not, he was a 
marked man. Students pointed him out to each 
other on the way to Chapel next morning, his fel- 
low classmates hovered around him, openly ador- 
ing. 

But Van was anything but pleased about it. He 
was naturally a modest chap, and the publicity 
bothered him. Could he have followed his own 
inclination, he would probably have been satisfied 
to sit back and do nothing all through his college 
course. But the incident of the Proclamation 
Rush combined with what Ted had told him about 
college spirit willed otherwise. Whether he 
wished it or not, Van was bound to be a marked 
man. 

Coach Handford, hearing about him from Ted, 
waxed enthusiastic. 


76 


THE BEGINNING OF A PROBLEM 


“ Bring him along,” he said joyfully. “He’s 
just the man we need to bolster up the line. If 
by any chance you can’t play — ” He stopped and 
glanced keenly at Ted. 4 4 How about it ? ” he asked 
abruptly. “Are you going to make it or not?” 

“My job’s turned out 0. K.,” Ted answered. 
“But even now I’m not so sure — ” 

Handford, ignoring the last phrase, smiled in 
sudden relief. 

“At least we’ll have a good first team,” he an- 
nounced. “We’ve got eleven men who look just 
about right to me. But if any of you get hurt, 
may the fates smile kindly on us.” 

“Oh, we’ll find the subs without much trouble,” 
Ted put it. “It’s the regulars who count.” 

“Not by a long shot!” The coach’s face was 
serious. “Have you ever wondered why it is that 
the larger universities generally win out while 
playing a small college?” he asked. “It’s be- 
cause their reserves are stronger. Their subs are 
worth while.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that.” 

“No, but it looks to me as if it’s going to be 
Raritan’s big problem — efficient substitutes.” 

“Well, we can count on Vanderwart,” Ted en- 
couraged him. “He ought to be a regular demon 
on the football field.” 

“Perhaps.” 

“If he once gets going as he did the other night, 
there won’t be any perhaps to it.” 

“Let’s hope so.” Handford seemed suddenly 
77 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

pessimistic. “ I ’ve coached these wonders be- 
fore/ ’ he announced. Turning, he tossed a ball 
to one of the candidates who happened to be stand- 
ing near. It was a freshman, fairly large but soft 
looking. “Let’s see you bend over the ball and 
pass some to Arnold,” he commanded. 

The freshman, however, held the ball all wrong 
and then passed it in a wide semi-circle instead of 
a straight line. The coach, with evident impa- 
tience, seized the pigskin. 

“Do it this way,” he commanded. 

The boy watched him, but rather indifferently; 
and Handy, noting his indifference, set his mouth 
in straight lines. 

“Let’s see you do it right this time,” he sug- 
gested. 

But the freshman, bending over, repeated the 
process in exactly the same way as at first. The 
coach, striding forward, laid a calloused hand on 
his shoulder. 

“My boy,” he said kindly, “the best thing for 
you to do is to go home and tell your mother that 
you haven’t made good, that you’ve lost your 
chance to be a football player on the Raritan var- 
sity.” Wheeling, he called the other players to 
him. “Fellows,” he announced in a voice which 
rang out clearly, “ It’s a good man who takes his 
coaching , whether it’s in football or in life. This 
chap here will never make a football player, not 
because he isn’t big or strong enough, but because 
he doesn’t know enough to take the advice of some 
78 


THE BEGINNING OF A PROBLEM 


one wiser than he is. I want every player on this 
team to do what he is told to do and to pay atten- 
tion to orders.” 

The incident was typical of the football mentor, 
and, hearing him, Dick did not wonder at his mar- 
velous success as a coach, or as a business man 
either. Hardly a day passed that the players did 
not learn something from him; and it was not all 
football, either. But he was a hard taskmaster, 
keeping the squad working the greater part of the 
long afternoons and holding them at top speed all 
the time. He varied the program, however ; prac- 
tice was never monotonous, and the men did not 
know what the next move would be. But already, 
after a single week’s preliminary work, most of 
the team were in better condition than had 
generally been the case in mid-season of other 
years. 

They had completed a period of line charging 
when Van made his appearance on the field. He 
towered above the other members of the squad, 
and Handy greeted him cordially. 

4 ‘How much do you weigh?” he asked. 

‘ ‘ Two hundred and sixteen. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Whew ! Did you ever play before ? 9 9 

“Yes, sir, a little.” 

“Where was that?” 

“In high school.” 

‘ ‘ What position ? 9 9 

“Guard.” 

“You come from New York, don’t you?” 

79 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

Van nodded. 

c *' What school ?” 

“ DeWitt Clinton.” 

“ Humph!” The coach looked puzzled. 
“ Funny I haven’t heard of you. I know a good 
many of those New York boys, too.” 

“I wasn’t much good.” Van didn’t seem to be 
enjoying the interview. 

“You weren’t? Why?” 

“I just wasn’t, that’s all.” Van smiled embar- 
rassedly. ‘ ‘ I told Ted White that I wouldn ’t have 
much chance here,” he explained patiently. 

“A man as big as you are who can’t make any 
team in the country ought to be ashamed of him- 
self,” Handy announced, with his usual frankness. 
Then his lips shut with sudden determination. 
“But I’ll bring out the stuff that’s in you if such 
a thing is possible.” 

“I’m perfectly willing to do everything I can,” 
V an answered. ‘ ‘ But I don ’t like the game. ’ ’ 

The coach’s eyes opened wider; it was a hard 
thing for him to understand the viewpoint of a 
boy who didn’t like football. 

“It’s the greatest game in the world,” he de- 
clared. “And perhaps we can make it interesting 
for you. Come down the field with me.” 

For twenty minutes or more the big coach 
drummed the rudiments of football into the giant 
freshman, while Ted and Dick looked on interest- 
edly. Neither of them had ever seen anything 
quite like it. It did not take Handy long to find 
80 


THE BEGINNING OF A PROBLEM 

out that Yan was strong, willing and gritty. But 
that was the best that could be said about him, for 
he was also slow, unconsciously indifferent, and 
awkward. Time and again he charged at his men- 
tor, who himself had been a great football player, 
only to find his face buried in the dirt, or his body 
sprawled unceremoniously upon the ground. 
Handy punished him, not cruelly, but systemati- 
cally; and no matter how much it hurt, Yan went 
back for more. But he did not get fighting mad ; 
he showed no hint of the latent fighting spirit 
which had come to the surface on the night of the 
rush. He was most of the time as limp as a wet 
rag, making little effort to fight back and charging 
with an indifference as to results which caused 
Handy to grit his teeth angrily. When he was 
forced to the ground he got up again, smiling apol- 
ogetically, his big frame relaxed. Caught in one 
of the steel-like grips of the coach, he smiled again 
and did not attempt to release himself. His show- 
ing was a disappointment, even to Ted. And 
Handy was frankly disgusted. 

i ‘ That will do, ’ ’ he announced finally. “You ’ve 
got a lot to learn. Take a jog around the track 
and then go to the gym. And come out to-mor- 
row.” After Yan had gone, the coach turned to 
Ted. “He seems to lack something,” he said. 
“He’s willing enough and has a lot of strength, 
but he hasn’t got the punch.” 

Ted smiled knowingly. 

“He didn’t have the punch in the proc rush until 
81 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


something stirred him up,” he answered. “As 
soon as he gets in a game, he ’ll surprise you. ’ y 

But Handy seemed unimpressed. 

“I’ve worked with that kind before,” he an- 
swered, “and I’ve never seen one make good yet. 
The trouble with this boy is that he lacks the fight- 
ing spirit.” 

But Ted maintained that all Van needed was an 
awakening, and Dick backed him up in his belief, 
for he could not forget the change that had come 
over him during the proclamation rush. 

Meanwhile, the football squad bent all its efforts 
toward the first game of the season, which they 
were scheduled to play with Kingston, which was 
one of the best teams in the East, and which had 
beaten Raritan regularly during the past twenty 
years. The smaller college had little hope of win- 
ning, but Handy figured that if Raritan could hold 
down the score to twenty points or less, they would 
be doing well. Their biggest game, which was 
played on Thanksgiving Day, was with Hillwood. 
That was the only game that really mattered; if 
Raritan lost every other contest on the schedule 
and beat Hillwood in the last game, they counted 
the season a success. 

But Handy was very anxious to make a good 
showing against Kingston. With Ted certain to 
play, the line was fairly compact; but there was a 
big hole in the backfield, due to the dismissal of 
Jim Smith. The Smith incident was causing a lot 
of talk among the students. In other years, men 
82 


THE BEGINNING OF A PROBLEM 


had smoked cigarettes openly, and had not been 
kept from the football team; and the undergradu- 
ates could not quite understand why Smith should 
be made to sutler for what had previously drawn 
no punishment. In fact, the members of the 
senior class went so far as to draw up a petition 
and present it to Handy. But the coach was deter- 
mined to start a new order of things. 

“Boys,” he said to the petitioners, “I feel just 
as bad as you do about losing a good half-back. 
The success of this team means a lot to me, but my 
self-respect means more. But as I have said to 
the squad, if we lose every game, we are going to 
obey training rules. A man who doesn’t think 
enough of his team to give up cigarettes doesn’t 
deserve to play on that team. ’ 9 

And so the Smith incident was closed. But 
Handy was worried. There didn’t seem to be an- 
other player on the squad who was capable of fill- 
ing the position. The coach even went so far as 
to stop likely freshmen on the campus and ask 
them to come out for the team, but not one of them 
was worth the effort. 

The day before the Kingston game arrived, with 
Raritan lacking a good half-back, the prospects 
were anything but bright. A mass meeting was 
held, where everybody cheered and sang, but Hick 
went to bed that night with a feeling that they 
were in for a beating. Ted evidently felt the same 
way, for neither of them could sleep, and at about 
eleven o’clock Hick put on a bathrobe and went out 
83 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

into the study. Ted was sitting at his desk, a wor- 
ried look on his face. 

“You remind me of a funeral,” Dick told him. 
“What’s the use of worrying so? We’ve been 
beaten before.” 

“It isn’t the game that’s bothering me,” Ted 
answered, “although I do feel a little nervous. I 
haven’t ever played college football, you know.” 

“It isn’t much different from prep school foot- 
ball, only a little harder.” 

“Yes, it is different.” Ted spoke earnestly. 
“It’s more serious; it means more to a fellow.” 

Dick gazed thoughtfully out upon the campus. 
A single light on the old King’s building shone 
steadily. Yes, college football was different; it 
made a fellow feel his responsibility. 

6 1 Do you know, ’ ’ Ted continued, ‘ 1 that I would 
rather play football than do anything else in the 
world. There is something about the game which 
appeals to me. But I don’t know whether I ought 
to play or not. ’ 9 

“What?” 

Dick looked at him in amazement, for the stu- 
dents had all thought that there would be no ques- 
tion of him playing, that the dormitory job had 
made him free to do what he wanted to. 

“You’ll have plenty of money, won’t you?” 
Dick asked. 

“Yes,” Ted answered. “It isn’t the money 
that’s bothering me; it’s something else.” 

“What is it?” 


84 


THE BEGINNING OF A PROBLEM 

Ted was silent for a moment. 

“I don’t think I’ll tell yon now,” he said finally, 
“but it’s a problem which bothers me quite a lot.” 

Dick arose and yawned sleepily. 

“Well, if there’s anything I can do, I’ll be glad 
to do it.” 

A knock sounded on the door. 

“Come in!” Ted called. 

The visitor was Van, who, as has been said, 
roomed across the hall. 

“I don’t want to bother you fellows,” he said, 
“but I can’t seem to sleep.” 

“Nervous about the game?” Dick asked. 

“No, I don’t think so. There isn’t a chance in 
the world for me to play, is there, Ted ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I guess not. Y ou haven ’t had enough practice 
yet.” 

Van stretched himself out on the window seat. 

“I’m worried about football,” he announced. 
“I’m afraid that I’m not going to make good.” 

“Nonsense,” Ted assured him. “You only 
need a little work.” 

Van shook his head. 

“All the work in the world won’t help me,” he 
affirmed, “unless I get some pep. And I can’t 
seem to get any.” 

Ted chuckled. 

“You managed to get it all right in the proc 
rush,” he said; “it will come in football. I 
wouldn’t bother about it, if I were you.” 

But Van refused to be encouraged. 

85 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“I have to get mad before I can do any- 
thin g,” he answered, “and football can’t make me 
mad. ’ 9 

“It will some time.” 

“I don’t think so.” Struck by a sudden 
thought, Van smiled. “Perhaps, if you could give 
me a good wallop on the nose before a game, I 
might get sore and do something,” he suggested. 

“Maybe I’ll have to.” There was a grim note 
in Ted’s voice, and his lips were set in a straight 
line. 

“I wish you would.” Van rose and stretched 
himself. “Here I am, the biggest man in college, 
with all kinds of strength,” he said disgustedly, 
“and I can’t even make first substitute on the 
football team. I make myself sick.” 

When he had gone, Ted turned to Dick. 

“I’m going to keep after that boy and teach him 
every bit of football I know,” he announced. 
“ He ’s got it in him, and then, maybe, if I should 
drop out, he would be able to take my place. ’ ’ 

“I wish you ’d quit talking about dropping out, ’ ’ 
the other boy said irritably. “What’s bothering 
you, anyway ? ’ ’ 

“Something big. I’ll tell you about it soon 
probably, but I can’t just yet. I have to fight it 
out with myself. ’ ’ 

Ted went back to his own bedroom and Dick sat 
alone in the study. Something was bothering 
Ted, and the trouble concerned the football team. 
Dick tried to imagine what it was, but finally gave 
86 


THE BEGINNING OF A PROBLEM 


up in despair, and, turning out the light, tumbled 
into bed again. 

The clock on the tower of the King’s building 
struck twelve. He ought to have been asleep two 
hours ago. But he was restless, filled somehow 
with a vague apprehension. He was worried 
about Ted. 

And Raritan was scheduled to play Kingston the 
next afternoon! 


CHAPTER VIII 


FOOTBALL PLAYERS AND WORKERS 

F OR the larger colleges, the first football 
game of the season is invariably an easy 
one. It is arranged in order to provide 
needed practice and to smooth out the rough edges 
of varsity play. But for the small college team 
which is selected as a victim, the contest is any- 
thing but a practice romp. Sometimes, indeed, it 
takes on all the importance of a mid-season battle. 

Raritan was a small college, and the team was 
expected to be overwhelmed by the larger and 
more experienced Kingston eleven. For the past 
ten years they had looked upon the Kingston game 
as a sort of necessary evil; year after year the 
players had gone down to the larger university, 
had offered what opposition they could, and had 
been battered and beaten to a standstill. In all 
that time they had never scored a single point, and 
the totals against them had ranged from ten to 
fifty or sixty. 

Coach Handford had announced upon his ad- 
vent at Raritan that they had the small college 
viewpoint, and undoubtedly he was right. To 
score against Kingston would have been to Rari- 
88 


FOOTBALL PLAYERS AND WORKERS 


tan a marvelous accomplishment, and that was the 
hope which sent them season after season to the 
neighboring institution. But when some one men- 
tioned the fact at the training table on the morn- 
ing of the game, Handy waxed indignant. 

“It’s all nonsense to talk that way,” he an- 
nounced. ‘ ‘ A team should never go into any game 
without the idea of victory. ’ ’ 

“But we’ve never beaten Kingston,” Ted pro- 
tested. 

“What difference does that make? It’s about 
time we did, then.” 

“Well, we’ll try,” one of the linemen announced, 
but his voice lacked confidence, and Handy, notic- 
ing it, brought his hand down upon the table with 
such force that the dishes shook. 

“That’s the trouble with our small colleges,” 
he complained bitterly. “Put them up against a 
bigger proposition and they’re beaten before they 
start. But that kind of thing has got to go at 
Raritan. From this time on, we’re going to play 
big college football.” 

His words, somehow, remained with the team all 
through the morning. The men had not yet been 
educated up to his point of view, but something of 
his indomitable spirit had gotten into them, and 
more than one member of the Raritan team made 
a silent vow that before the day was over King- 
ston would have the surprise of her life. 

“We simply can’t lay down this afternoon, after 
what Handy has said,” Ted remarked. “He’s 
89 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


right; in other years we’ve been beaten before the 
whistle blew.” 

“And there isn’t any real reason why Kingston 
should walk all over us,” Dick added. “They’ve 
got more men, of course, but we’re almost as big.” 

“And this year, we’re just as well trained,” 
Ted supplemented. “That has always been their 
great advantage ; they could afford better coaches 
than we could. But now that we’ve got Handy, 
most of their advantage has gone.” 

“Well, we’ll wait and see.” 

But it was hard waiting. There is something 
about the first football game which gets, somehow, 
on a fellow’s nerve. In the first place, there is 
the doubt of the team’s real ability; its showing 
against the scrubs means little or nothing. And 
in the second place, there is the problem of the 
new men. How will they stand up under fire, 
how will they meet the test of an actual contest? 
There is a thrill to it, of course, but a thrill that 
is rather dulled because of the uncertainty ac- 
companying it. 

And in Raritan ’s case, the probability of defeat, 
the possibility of an overwhelming beating, had 
to be taken into consideration. The men did not 
know why they always played Kingston for the 
first game; but they did know that it was, all in 
all, a bad thing for them. Seldom a year passed 
without one or more of the best players being in- 
jured, but that was not the worst of it. Con- 
tinual setbacks at the very beginning of the sea- 
90 


FOOTBALL PLAYERS AND WORKERS 


son had caused them to look upon defeat as some- 
thing to be tolerated, even to laugh at. And a 
winning team never laughs at defeat. 

Strangely, someone broached that very sub- 
ject at lunch. 

‘ ‘ Why under the sun do we always have to open 
the season with Kingston ?” he asked. 

“Well, someone has to be the goat,” the mana- 
ger answered, “and we’ve been elected.” 

“But is there any real reason for it?” 

“Yes, it puts us financially on our feet. We 
make enough on the Kingston game to carry us 
along for the greater part of the season.” 

Dick had never thought of that. But the reason 
seemed a good one, for he knew by experience how 
much money it costs to run a football team. 
Handy, however, shook his head. 

“If I’m at Raritan next year, there’s going to 
be a change,” he announced. “We’re going to 
drop the Kingston game. ’ ’ 

“Why?” the manager asked. 

“Because it teaches our players the habit of de- 
feat. It’s a bad rut to get into.” 

“I know even a better plan than dropping the 
game,” Ted declared. 

“What is it?” 

“Play so well that Kingston will be afraid to 
take us on.” 

The coach smiled, but his eyes were alight with 
admiration. 

“That’s the way I want every fellow on this 
91 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


team to talk,” he said. “We’ll make Ted’s 
thought the goal of our football here at Raritan. ’ 9 

Two or three of the players nodded; the rest 
looked on quietly. But those words of Coach 
Handford’s signified the beginning of a new order 
of things at Raritan College. From that moment, 
the undergraduates began to grasp something of 
the big college idea in athletics. They no longer 
laughed at defeat. 

The trip to Kingston was made in automobiles. 
Handy took a large squad along, for the rival col- 
lege was only about forty miles away and the 
expenses were small. On the way to the game, 
the players talked a lot, breaking occasionally into 
a college song, and trying to make believe that 
they were not nervous. But most of them were 
shaking just a bit inside, and all would have 
been glad had they been returning instead of go- 
ing. 

They reached their destination finally, stopping 
off at the gymnasium and being shown to their 
quarters in the spacious locker rooms. There was 
plenty of time, so they dressed leisurely, trying 
not to think much of the game or its result. The 
scene was typical ; players in all stages of attire 
chatting noisily, hunting for lost articles of cloth- 
ing, borrowing this or that which they had forgot- 
ten. Jake Bentley, the trainer, bustled about 
busily, applying bandages to weak wrists or 
ankles, massaging bruised muscles, watching 
motherlike over his charges. But finally all were 
92 


FOOTBALL PLAYERS AND WORKERS 

ready, and after a few short sentences from Coach 
Handford, the team trotted to the field. 

It was the first game of the season for both 
colleges, and the big stadium was only dotted with 
spectators. But in one section of the stands a 
dark mass signified where the faithful Raritan 
students were watching, three hundred or more of 

them. They arose when the squad entered, boom- 
ing forth the “locomotive yell” defiantly. The 
Kingston rooters, grouped on the opposite side of 
the field, answered in kind. The day was mild, 
too warm for football, but the spirit of battle 
was in the air. 

The varsity ran through their signals briskly, 

then, spreading out over the gridiron, passed the 
ball back and forth, while Ted White sent boom- 
ing punts to the quarter-back and half-backs. 
'Those punts of his drew forth a cheer of real 
appreciation from the Kingston students; and 
later, when Ted placed eight out of ten drop kicks 
over the cross-bar, their cheering had a hint of ap- 
prehension in it. 

Coach Handford, glimpsing Ted’s work, nodded 
with satisfaction. 

“If we can get within thirty yards of their goal, 
we’ll score,” he announced. 

His prophecy put a good deal of courage and 
determination into the Raritan team. In spite of 
what he had previously said about expecting de- 
feat, there was probably not a man on the squad 
staunch enough to think that they would really 
93 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


win. That frame of mind came later in the sea- 
son. But there were a good many of the Rari- 
tan players who believed that they might score, 
and they were resolved that if such a thing were 
possible, they would force the ball over King- 
ston’s line. Meanwhile, waiting for the game to 
begin, they tossed the pigskin from one to another, 
anxiously waiting for the shrill blast of the 
referee’s whistle. The rival cheering sections 
sent rumbling yells across the field, a thin line of 
spectators streamed through the gates, and the 
sun shone down unhindered from a sky of clearest 
^blue. 

Finally, the Kingston squad appeared. They 
numbered more than fifty men, big strapping fel- 
lows who looked capable of wiping up the field 
with the smaller college. And after the game had 
progressed for ten minutes, it seemed as if such 
was going to be the case; for at the end of the 
first quarter, they had scored two touchdowns and 
kicked one goal for a total of thirteen points. 
Raritan played better in the second period, how- 
ever, and held them to a field goal, the half end- 
ing with the score sixteen to nothing. 

It wasn’t quite so bad as it might have been, 
but Handford was far from satisfied. When he 
had finished his burst of eloquence in the dressing 
room, Raritan’s estimation of itself had fallen 
considerably and the men returned to the field 
with a do or die spirit which boded ill for King- 
ston’s hope for a high score. All through the 
94 


FOOTBALL PLAYERS AND WORKERS 

third quarter they played on the defensive, fight- 
ing desperately in the shadow of the goal-posts. 
The spirit of the big coach had worked itself into 
their blood, for try as they might, the Kingston 
backfield could not force the ball across the line. 

On three different occasions Raritan held them 
for downs, but as soon as the ball reverted to them, 
they were helpless. Kingston ’s line was a veteran 
combination and the lighter team could not gain 
an inch ; but their ends were comparatively weak, 
and if Raritan had possessed a fast half-back, 
they could undoubtedly have circled them for big 
gains. But there was no half-back fast enough to 
break loose ; Jim Smith was the only man in col- 
lege who could have done it, and he had broken 
faith with the coach. 

The fourth quarter began with the ball in King- 
ston’s possession on Raritan’s thirty yard line. 
Then something happened. A Kingston runner 
shot around end, the ball nestled snugly in his 
arms. Ted, playing at tackle, dashed through the 
line and crashed against him. The impact sent 
the pigskin shooting from his arms and bouncing 
ahead. Suddenly the ball took a queer bound, 
and the next thing Dick Arnold knew, he had se- 
cured possession of it and was dashing up the 
field. He ran as he had never run before; the 
cheers of the Raritan rooters seemed to come from 
a long distance. Out of the corner of one eye, he 
saw a Kingston player bearing down upon him 
from the side. He approached with remarkable 
95 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


swiftness ; the goal-posts loomed ahead. And then 
the Kingston man was upon him; Dick felt the 
grasp of a clutching hand on his trousers, stum- 
bled along for a few yards, and fell heavily to the 
ground. The whistle blew. The ball lay on the 
twenty yard line, midway between the two side- 
lines. 

For three downs Raritan crashed against the 
Kingston defense, but to no avail. And then the 
quarterback signaled for Ted White to try for a 
field goal. Very deliberately, Ted dropped back 
from his position, measured the distance to the 
posts, and opened his hands. The pass was fair 
and true. The lines crashed, Ted’s foot swung 
forward, and the ball sailed directly over the 
cross-bar. 

Raritan had scored against Kingston! The 
Scarlet rooters went wild with delight; cheer 
after cheer swept the field. It mattered little to 
them that the other college took the ball on the 
kick-off and swept along for another touchdown. 
For the first time in ten years, Raritan had man- 
aged to score ; and the students were satisfied. 

On the train going home, they were wildly 
hilarious, planning a big celebration on Monday 
night and demanding that Ted lead a parade 
through the town on Saturday evening. Ted’s 
feat of kicking a goal came to be a big asset to his 
business. Students who had cared little what kind 
of water they drank fell in with the new idea and 
signed up for Ted’s service. The list grew to 
96 


FOOTBALL PLAYERS AND WORKERS 

one hundred and sixty, and Ted should have been 
enthusiastic, but somehow he failed to respond. 
He was inclined to grow irritable when football 
was mentioned, and on one or two occasions he 
remarked gloomily that he thought perhaps he’d 
have to quit. But he was enthusiastic about or- 
ganizing a club for students working their way 
through college, and on Wednesday night he called 
a meeting in his room for all undergraduates who 
were earning at least half of their expenses. 

Twenty-one men responded and fell in at once 
with the idea of a club. They elected Ted presi- 
dent and Dick secretary ; and agreed to meet every 
two weeks to talk over ways and means. Then 
a roll was taken of those present. 

There were two boys who had studied stenog- 
raphy before entering college and who made close 
to forty dollars a month each, working in the col- 
lege office. Ten students were officially appointed 
tutors who trained backward freshmen and 
sophomores at a rate of one dollar an hour. 
They averaged two hundred and fifty dollars each 
for the college year. One fellow played the piano 
every night in a moving picture theater downtown 
and made eighteen dollars a week ; another was a 
companion to an old bachelor who lived near the 
college, for which service he received one hundred 
and fifty dollars and his board ; two -others taught 
school in a boys 9 home in Raritan and made about 
two hundred and forty dollars each for the school 
term of thirty weeks. Two fellows sang in the 
97 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


choir of the biggest church in town and received 
three hundred dollars apiece for the entire year, 
and another two ran the college book store and 
made a profit of about five hundred dollars be- 
tween them. 

And finally, there was a fellow named Johnny 
Greene who called himself a man of all work. 

“ I made about three hundred and ten dollars 
last year,” he announced. “But this year I may 
not be so lucky.” 

i 1 What did you do ? ” Dick asked. 

“Early in November, I entered a subscription 
contest of a well-known magazine,” he answered, 
“and got two hundred new subscriptions around 
the college and town. My commissions amounted 
to fifty dollars and, in addition, I was awarded a 
cash prize of fifty more.” 

“Pretty hard work, wasn’t it?” someone asked. 

“Not if a fellow wants to get out and hustle. 
Well,” he continued, “that kept me in funds until 
about December. Then I found myself strapped. 
I tried to get a job fixing furnaces or selling books, 
but nothing turned up. Then during the first 
week in December, I heard that the Sophomore 
Hop was going to be held on the fourteenth. I 
saw a chance to make some money. 

“There are three garages in Raritan, and they 
have been in the habit of charging each couple two 
dollars a trip to the gymnasium where the dance 
is held. It was a case of highway robbery, but 
the fellows couldn’t help themselves and had to 
98 


FOOTBALL PLAYERS AND WORKERS 


pay what was charged. I figured that I could take 
them to the dance for a dollar a couple and make 
a big profit. 

“So I hired a seven-seated automobile at five 
dollars an hour, went around to each fraternity 
and club house and received the contract to take 
their house-parties to the gym. By carrying eight 
persons each trip, I made twenty trips and cleared 
seventy dollars, because I only needed the auto for 
two hours. I did the same thing at the two other 
dances, and cleaned up two hundred and ten dol- 
lars for three nights ’ work.” 

“But didn’t the garage managers get wise and 
refuse to hire out a car on the night of the 
dances?” Ted asked. 

“No. I found out weeks in advance on what 
date the dances were going to be held. Then I got 
someone else to hire an auto for me on those 
nights. ’ 9 

The meeting was one of the most interesting 
Dick had ever attended. The twenty-one boys 
present, not counting Ted and himself, represented 
an earning capacity equal to five thousand, eight 
hundred and forty dollars. It was divided as 
follows: 2 stenographers, $800; ten tutors, 
$2,500 ; one piano player, $540 ; two teachers, $480 ; 
one companion, $150 ; two singers, $600 ; two store- 
keepers, $500 ; one “man of all work,” $310. And 
these boys, without a single exception, stood well 
in their studies, and several of them found time 
to take part in college activities. 

99 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


It was eleven o’clock before the meeting broke 
up. The students left rather reluctantly, for they 
had enjoyed themselves immensely. After Dick 
had shaken hands with the last of them, he turned 
to his roommate. 

“Ted,” he said, “I owe a lot to you for having 
me meet those fellows. I wouldn’t have missed it 
for worlds.” 

Ted smiled frankly into his eyes. 

“They’re the most representative crowd in col- 
lege,” he answered, “and what is more, they’ll 
make good after graduation. They’re learning to 
be real men.” 


CHAPTER. IX 


A GAIN AND A LOSS 

O X Saturday the team played Loft College 
and won sixteen to three. There was 
nothing about the playing to brag over, 
however, and Handford shook his head doubtfully. 

“We simply must find another half-back to take 
Smith’s place,” he said, after the game. “Our 
line, thanks to White, is all that could be desired, 
but our backfield is weak.” 

“Is there any chance of Smith returning!” Dick 
asked. 

“No. He has forfeited all right to play.” 
“You might give him another chance,” Ted 
suggested. 

But Handy refused to be moved. Day after 
day, practice continued, and with each succeeding 
afternoon of scrimmage, the need for a plunging 
half-back became more apparent. Jim Smith 
haunted the field, but the head coach paid no atten- 
tion to him whatever. Jim looked like a lost soul ; 
he wandered listlessly from classroom to class- 
room, and as soon as the last class was over, made 
a bee-line for the football field. He kept in touch 
with every play, and if Handford had only de- 
101 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


cided to give him another chance, he would have 
been able to take his place with only a moment's 
notice. One of the students who knew him well 
told the squad that he went out in the hack yard 
of his fraternity house in the late afternoons and 
threw the football around so that he wouldn't for- 
get the feel of it. The college sympathized with 
Jim; he was really a splendid fellow and it was 
the general opinion that it had been only thought- 
lessness which made him break the training rules. 

Meantime, the days settled down to a round of 
study, football practice, and work. Dick had 
made sure of the newspaper job, and every Satur- 
day morning walked downtown and received a 
check for eight dollars. Occasionally a check 
came from the New York or Newark paper, so that 
he was fairly well supplied with money. He did 
not spend so much as during the two preceding 
years, but there was plenty to satisfy his wants, 
and he was content. His father wrote regularly; 
he was, as usual, interested in the football team, 
but he always wanted to know all about the latest 
development in the newspaper field. Dick had 
written to him about the club which had been or- 
ganized, and he threatened to come down to college 
at any time to meet some of his son's new friends. 

The third game of the season resulted in a score- 
less tie with State University. The Raritan de- 
fense was fine, but although the team outplayed 
the visitors, they lacked the final pmich and 
could not force the ball over the line. It was 
102 


A GAIN AND A LOSS 


rather discouraging, to say the least, and when 
the fourth game was lost to Glenwood, seven to 
six, the students shook their heads and prophesied 
that the season would not be a success. Baritan’s 
six points had been made by Ted, who managed to 
kick field goals on the only opportunities which 
presented themselves. Ted was the one bright 
spot on the team. He was a powerful defensive 
player, and his kicking was a powerful weapon 
on the offense. 

But things weren ’t going very well for Ted ; he 
was worried. Dick had hoped that his roo mm ate 
would confide in him, but the other boy held back 
for some reason or other, and Dick did not urge 
him. Ted’s water selling scheme was going along 
in fine shape, and Dick knew that it was not money 
matters on his mind. 

He spent a go<od deal of time teaching Van all 
about a tackle position. Handford had given the 
big freshman up as hopeless. 

“ He ’ll never be any good,” he said to Ted. 
“He lacks the fighting spirit. I don’t say that he 
hasn’t courage; he’s gritty enough, but he doesn’t 
care for the game and he refuses to take it seri- 
ously. The biggest man in the world can’t play 
football unless he fights every minute of play. 
And Vanderwart won’t do it; he’s indifferent.” 

But Ted persisted. He spent every spare mo- 
ment he could find with Van, sat next to him at the 
training table, talked to him in his room at night, 
did everything that he possibly could to awaken 
103 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

the power which he knew lay dormant. But Van 
did not respond. He learned to worship Ted, as 
anyone did who was with him for long ; but he did 
not improve in his football playing. Ted even 
taught him to kick, and in this he was successful. 
Van learned to send big, booming punts down the 
field until the coach noticed them and told Van to 
keep on practicing. 

“If anything should happen to White and we 
should need a good kicker, you might get in the 
game,” he exclaimed. 

But Van showed little enthusiasm, and when he 
got a chance in the contest with Litchfield, he 
played indifferently. Raritan managed to win by 
a big score, but it was more on account of their 
opponent’s weakness than any special strength of 
their own. 

On the night after the game, Ted and Dick were 
sitting alone in the room. Dick was nursing a 
bruised ankle, and Ted had refused to go out and 
leave him alone. That was the kind of fellow Ted 
was. They got to talking about football, and 
suddenly Ted began to tell his roommate about 
the thing that had been bothering him. 

“Dick,” he said. “Do you think that the team 
could get along without me in the Hillwood 
game?” 

The other boy looked at him in amazement. 

“Get along without you? They’d beat us 
twenty to nothing if you didn’t play.” 

Ted frowned. 


104 


A GAIN AND A LOSS 


“ I wish you hadn’t said that,” he remarked. 
“It makes it all the harder for me.” 

“Makes what all the harder?” 

“What I think I ought to do.” 

“Tell me about it,” Dick suggested. 

Ted was silent for a long time before he spoke 
again. 

“Do you remember that I told you I had helped 
coach a high school team last year?” he asked. 

“Yes, you’ve mentioned it a couple of times.” 

“Well, I didn’t tell you all about it.” He drew 
a long breath. “The fact is, Dick, that I received 
money for that coaching.” 

1 i What ! That makes you a professional. ’ ’ 

“Morally, it does,” Ted answered. “But tech- 
nically it doesn’t.” 

Dick looked puzzled. 

“I don’t quite understand.” 

“It was this way. When I came to college, I 
was pretty hard up. I didn’t have much money 
and I simply had to earn some if I was going to 
stick. I had been quite a player in school, and 
the principal of the place where I had played came 
down to Lindhurst. It’s only ten miles from here, 
and they wanted a football coach. So the princi- 
pal wrote to me and asked me if I would coach 
the team. I went down to see him and explained 
that I ’d have to work my way through college and 
couldn’t spare the time. Then he just as much 
told me that the school would make it worth my 
while.” 


105 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“And they paid you?” 

“Yes, but not in the regular way. I didn’t 
think much about it at the time. Making money 
was my chief concern and I had no idea that I’d 
ever play on a college team. So I went ahead 
and coached as best I could. The team won 
every game, but no one said anything about 
money. ’ ’ 

“Well,” Dick asked curiously, “if you didn’t 
get paid, what did it matter!” 

“When the season was over, Mr. James, the 
principal, asked me to come to see him. After a 
time he drew five twenty dollar bills from his 
pocket and handed them to me. 

“ ‘This isn’t a salary for coaching the team,’ he 
said. ‘But just a present from the school. We 
want to show you how we appreciate your coming 
here. ’ 

“I held back at first, but I was hard pressed 
for money at the time, and I finally gave in.” 
Ted smiled, rather wanly. ‘ ‘ That ’s all there is to 
it. Am I a professional or have I a right to play 
on the team?” 

Dick was silent. He didn’t know what to say. 
If Ted wanted to hide behind a technicality, he 
was as much an amateur as any man on the team ; 
but from another standpoint, he was a profes- 
sional, for he had undoubtedly received money be- 
cause of his football ability. It was a hard ques- 
tion to decide. 

The team needed him. Without him to punt 
106 


A GAIN AND A LOSS 


them out of danger, they were practically help- 
less. They had no line plunging half-back, their 
offense was weak; and with Ted gone, there would 
be a big hole in the line that no one in college could 
fill. No one but Percy Vanderwart. 

It was strange that Dick’s thoughts should turn 
at that moment to the big freshman. Tie had so 
far been a failure ; he had lacked the fighting spirit. 
But Dick could not blot from his mind the picture 
of the last five minutes of the Proclamation Rush. 
He saw Van hurling men to the right and left, saw 
the transformation which had come over him; and 
he knew suddenly that if the big freshman could 
be prodded in the right way, he would fight just 
as hard for the football team. 

Dick turned to Ted, who was looking off into 
space, his brow contracted in a puzzled frown ; and 
the other boy realized all at once how much the 
game meant to him, how glad he had been when 
he had found out that he could play, how he fought 
and worked for Raritan. 

“Ted,” Dick said slowly, “what do you really 
think about it ? ” 

“I think that I ought to quit,” he answered. 
“And if I had only myself to think about, I would. 
But there’s the team. They haven’t anybody but 
me to kick the ball; there isn’t another good tackle 
in college.” 

“Do you think Van could fit in?” 

“I wish he could, but I don’t think so. If we 
only could wake him up!” 

107 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE ' 

They were both silent for a time, occupied with 
the big problem. Finally, Dick arose. 

“Ted,” he announced, “I’m going to bed and 
dream about it. To tell you the honest truth, I 
don ’ t know what to say. ’ ’ 

Ted smiled grimly. 

‘ ‘ I shouldn ’t play, ’ ’ he said. 1 ‘ I shouldn 7 t play. 
But — there’s the team to think about.” 

Ah, that was it ! The team ! And the big game 
with Hillwood was only four days away. 

Neither Ted nor Dick mentioned the matter the 
next day. Ted was out in football togs, and it 
was noticeable that he spent a lot of time with 
Van, while the big freshman sent punt after punt 
soaring down the field. His kicks were fully as 
long as Ted’s, and they had more height. After 
one which cleared at least sixty yards before 
striking the ground, even Handford was forced 
to admit that Van could punt, if he couldn’t do 
anything else. 

But practice did not go well. Tom Allen, who 
had taken Smith ’s place in the backfield, was weak 
in rushing the ball. He could neither run the ends 
nor hit the line, and he retarded rather than helped 
the other backs. Against the scrubs the team 
played poorly, and not even the singing and cheer- 
ing of the student body could brush away the 
atmosphere of depression which hung over the 
field. 

Jim Smith was there, pacing restlessly up and 
down the side-lines. Once he passed close to 
108 


A GAIN AND A LOSS 


where the coach was standing. He looked np 
hopefully, appealingly, but Handford only nodded 
absently and turned to the task at hand. Jim 
walked away despairingly, tossing small pebbles 
along the running track. It was his last year at 
Raritan, and he had lost his chance to play on the 
football team. 

At five o ’clock the field was a mass of shadows, 
but Handford kept the squad at work until they 
could no longer see the ball. At five-thirty they 
adjourned to the gymnasium, where the coach 
called Jim Way and Dick out of the dressing room 
and kept them throwing and catching forward 
passes until well after six. The others had gone 
when they returned to the locker room, and a few 
minutes later, Handford left. The gym was de- 
serted. The two boys finished their shower and 
rubdown and returned to the special varsity room 
reserved for football men. There was only a thin 
partition between that and the main rooms; and 
as they started to dress they heard the sound of 
voices. Neither of them had spoken, and the 
speakers in the next room Evidently believed that 
they were alone. Probably the two players would 
not have thought anything about the matter if 
they had not recognized the deep tones of Jim 
Smith. 

“You’re from Hillwood, aren’t you?” he was 
saying. 

Jim Way held up a warning hand and both 
boys listened eagerly. They could not understand 
109 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


why a man from Hillwood should be talking to 
Jim. 

‘ 4 Well, no, I’m not from Hillwood,” the other 
answered. “But I’m rather interested in their 
team. ’ ’ 

“In what way?” 

“Well, I’m a supporter of the team; I’ve seen 
them play every game. ’ ’ 

There was a sound of rustling paper, and then 
Jim spoke again. 

“You’ve written that you wanted to see me 
about something important,” he said. “What is 
it?” 

There was a pause before the other man spoke. 

“The Raritan football authorities have treated 
you rather poorly, haven’t they?” he asked. 

“No more than I deserve,” Jim answered 
bravely. “I was caught breaking training rules 
and was dropped from the squad.” 

“What rule did you break?” 

“I smoked a cigarette.” 

The other laughed derisively. 

“And they threw you off for that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Other fellows have done the same thing, 
haven’t they?” 

“Not this year. Mr. Handford is pretty strict 
about it.” 

‘ ‘ But don ’t you think he vras unfair to drop you 
without a warning?” 

Jim seemed to be wavering. 

110 


A GAIN AND A LOSS 

1 ‘I wouldn't have smoked if I had thought about 
it," he answered. “But it was a good lesson to 
the team." 

“If I were you I'd have been pretty sore." 

“I was at first, but I'm not now; I'd give worlds 
to be able to play just one more game." 

“But they won't let you, will they?" 

“No." 

Dick could not quite understand what it was all 
about. It seem to him that the stranger was 
mighty curious about things which did not con- 
cern him in the least, and Dick was half inclined 
to drop into the other room and tell him to get 
out of the gymnasium. But Way held up his 
hand warningly. 

“Don't do anything," he whispered. “We 
might find something out. ' ' 

So they kept their mouths closed and listened 
attentively. 

“I have come to see you because I know that 
you haven't any reason to be especially loyal to 
the Raritan team, ' ' the visitor continued. 

“Why haven't I any reason?" Jim broke in. 

“Because the team treated you pretty shab- 
bily. ' ' 

“It was no more than I deserved." 

“Don't try to tell me that." The tone was 
conciliatory. “You know that you didn't mean 
anything by smoking just one cigarette. It was 
unjust for them to drop you." 

Jim seemed to be weakening. 

Ill 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


* 1 What do you want me to do ? ’ ’ lie asked. 

Dick could almost see the other man smirk in 
triumph. 

“You know the team’s trick plays, don’t you?” 

“Yes, what of it?” 

Jim’s tones were belligerent. 

“Well,” the other parried, “let me first explain 
my position. I am not a student at Hillwood, nor 
am I in any way connected with the college. But 
I live in the same town and I follow the team 
pretty closely. Occasionally, I bet a few dollars 
on the games. ’ ’ 

“What do you want to do, bet with me?” 

“No, but I can put you in the way of earning 
some money. ’ ’ 

“I don’t believe in betting,” Jim answered. 
“So I guess that I won’t be able to help you.” 

“Your place in my scheme will have nothing to 
do with the betting,” the stranger hastened to 
make clear. “I want you to give me a little in- 
side information.” 

“How?” Jim’s voice was non-committal. 

The stranger paused before replying. 

“You make it extremely hard for me,” he said 
frankly. “I expected that after you had been 
treated so unfairly, you would meet me half-way. 
But to be perfectly frank with you, I want you to 
explain to me some of your team’s trick plays and 
formations.” 

“And what will you do with them ? ’ ’ 

“That is neither here nor there. All that I 
112 


A GAIN AND A LOSS 


wish you to do is to tell me the plays, and possi- 
bly a few signals.’ ’ 

“I’ll have to know why first.” 

“Well, if you must know, I suppose I shall tell 
you. I will see that the Hillwood team gets the 
information in a roundabout way. In straight 
football, their team is superior, but there is a 
chance that you might win by trick plays, and .1 
wish to insure myself against such chances.” 

“Let me get this straight.” Jim spoke evenly. 
“You want me to tell you our formations so that 
you can give them to Hillwood. Then you expect 
to bet against us and win some money.” 

“That is the gist of my remarks.” 

“And what do I get out of it?” 

“Fifty dollars in cash.” 

Jim was silent for a moment. 

“I think I understand you perfectly,” he said 
finally. “You are trying to bribe me into betray- 
ing my college.” 

“I wouldn’t put it exactly that way.” 

“Well, that’s the way I prefer to put it; and 
here’s my answer.” The boys in the next room 
could hear Jim spring to his feet. A second later 
the sound of flesh striking flesh came to them. 
They bolted through the door into the next room. 
Jim was standing upright, his eyes flashing. An 
older and smaller man held a hand to his cheek, 
which showed a spot of flaming red. 

“You sneak!” Jim cried. “You think I’d be a 
traitor, do you?” For the first time he saw; the 
113 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

two football players. He took a step backward. 
“Where did you fellows come from?” he asked. 

“We were in the other room and heard it all,” 
Dick answered. He turned to the stranger. 
“We’ll give you just five minutes to get out of 
town,” he announced, “and if you’re not gone by 
then, we’ll tell the college fellows who you are.” 

Without another word, he turned and slunk 
from the room. Captain Way turned to Jim. 

“Smith,” he said, “that wallop you gave him 
was the greatest sound I ’ve ever heard. ’ ’ 

Jim’s face was pale, and there was a hint of 
angry tears in his eyes. 

“He thought I’d double-cross my college,” he 
said slowly. “I must have a pretty poor reputa- 
tion.” 

The three of them walked to the Commons to- 
gether. After they had finished supper, Jimmy 
Way and Dick called Handford to one side and 
told him the whole story. The big coach listened 
attentively, and when they had finished, he gazed 
thoughtfully out of the window. Finally, he 
turned to the team captain. 

“I’m going to give Jim Smith another chance,” 
he said. “He’s the kind of man we need. Tell 
him to report to practice to-morrow.” 

They hunted Jim up and told him. He hardly 
said anything, but after they had broken the news 
to him, he picked up an old shoulder pad and 
folded it affectionately. 

“I only want one more chance,” he said slowly. 

114 


A GAIN AND A LOSS 

“Just one more chance. Tell Hillwood to look 
out/’ 

It was after nine when Dick reached the room 
again. Ted was sitting at his desk trying to study, 
but he tossed the book aside and listened eagerly 
when his roommate told him that Smith could 
play. 

“I’m mighty glad,” he said, “because that will 
give us a good offense, and the team won’t need 
me so much.” 

“What!” Dick gasped. “Aren’t you going to 
play, after all?” 

Ted shook his head. 

“No, Dick,” he answered. “I just can’t do it. 
It wouldn ’t be the square thing. ’ ’ 

The other boy knew that Ted was right, but he 
could not help wondering what the team was going 
to do for a tackle. Again his thoughts turned to 
Van, who had it in him to be a great player. He 
would be given his chance against Hillwood, for 
he was practically the only man available. It was 
up to him to make good, to win the game for Rari- 
tan. 


CHAPTER X 


THE FIRST HALF 

T HE next afternoon, two days before the 
biggest game of the season, the college was 
treated to a sensation. The student body, 
marching to the field for cheering practice, saw 
Jim Smith back in the lineup, and Ted White 
walking gloomily along the sidelines. Vander- 
wart, the big freshman, was at tackle in place of 
Ted. The cheer leader, puzzled, rushed over to 
Handford for information. 

“Smith is back on the team because he showed 
himself the kind of man we want,” the coach an- 
nounced. “And White is off the team because 
he’s too much of a man to be on it.” 

The cheer leader relayed the news to the curi- 
ous stands. The students were as much mystified 
as ever, but they gave the college yell for Smith 
and the “locomotive” for Ted, after which they 
watched the practice with mingled feelings of hope 
and dismay. Ted White, the best man on the 
team, could not play! What was the trouble? 
What had he done? They looked at one another 
questioningly. And what had Jim Smith done to 
merit his return to the team? It was a puzzling 
116 


THE FIRST HALF 

problem, and the college buzzed with speculation 
through the evening. 

After supper, Van demanded enlightenment. 

“What in the world is all the gossip about you 
not playing?” he asked of Ted. 

Ted smiled. 

“I’m dropping off the team so as to give you a 
chance,” he answered. “I want to prove to 
Handy that you’re a real football player, after 
all!” 

“Stop fooling. Why aren’t you going to 
play?” 

“It’s a secret.” 

“But you want to play, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Ted answered seriously. “More than 
most people realize.” 

“Then why don’t you?” 

“I can’t.” Ted tried to speak lightly. “It’s 
an ethical question, Van. When you get to be a 
junior and take a course in ethics, I’ll explain it 
to you. But it wouldn’t do any good to tell you 
now; you’re only a verdant freshman and you 
wouldn ’t understand. ’ ’ 

Van shook his head half angrily. 

“I’m not a child,” he persisted. “I’d like to 
know what the trouble is. ’ ’ 

Ted shifted his position and gazed directly at 
his freshman protege. 

“I’d tell you if I could, Van,” he said seriously. 
“But we’ve thought it best to keep things quiet. 
Will you be satisfied to know that I’d rather play 
117 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

in that football game than make two thousand dol- 
lars ? ’ ’ 

“Of course I didn’t mean to be so persistent.” 
Van frowned. “You must have a good reason, or 
you’d play.” 

“I sure would.” Ted spoke grimly. “It’s up 
to you now to take my place.” 

But Van shook his head. 

“I don’t think Handy’s going to put me in,” he 
announced. “I heard him tell Way that he ex- 
pected to use MacDonald.” 

“But Mac’s too light,” Dick ejaculated. “He 
only weighs one hundred and sixty.” 

“I know, but Handy says Mac will fight, and I 
won’t.” 

“I think Handy’s wrong,” Ted remarked. 
“But he’s a good coach and probably knows his 
business. But you’ll get in some of the time, Van ; 
and if you do, it ’s up to you. ’ ’ 

“I’ll play as good as I can,” Van answered. 

But somehow his words failed to carry convic- 
tion. He had not yet been sufficiently aroused; 
the fighting spirit which somewhere lay dormant 
in his big frame had not yet been awakened. 

On the next afternoon, in the final practice be- 
fore the game, MacDonald was in Ted’s place at 
tackle. The practice consisted of a long signal 
drill behind closed gates. The team worked well ; 
the backfield, for the first time during the season, 
played as a unit; Jim Smith fitted perfectly into 
the half-back berth. He also did the kicking, and 
118 


THE FIRST HALF 


although his punts were not so long as Ted ’s, they 
were well placed and gave the ends plenty of time 
to get down the field under them. 

The team seemed to have found itself at last. 
Hillwood would come to Raritan the next day with 
a seasoned eleven, a combination which had yet to 
be defeated. But the Raritan varsity had a good 
deal of faith in Handford and his coaching meth- 
ods. His policies had begun to bear fruit, and 
one thing was certain ; even though the team was 
defeated, it would fight its hardest from beginning 
to end. The indomitable spirit of the great coach 
had worked its way into the blood of the men. 
They felt confident, but not overconfident; they 
knew that they had a fighting chance, and that 
was all that they asked for. 

There was a big mass meeting in the gymnasium 
in the evening. The president of the college spoke, 
congratulating the team on the admirable spirit 
shown during the season, warning them against 
too great an emphasis upon victory. 

“It matters not in the end whether we win or 
lose,” he announced. “What really counts is the 
manner in which we play the game. And I know 
that you are going to play according to the stand- 
ards and traditions of the college you represent. 
I know that you believe with me that an honor- 
able defeat is more to be desired than a question- 
able victory.” 

Jim Way spoke and told his audience that the 
men would fight every minute of the game ; other 
119 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


members of the team stood up in their places and 
announced that they would do their very best for 
Raritan. The students sang and cheered, and 
then the chairman of the meeting called upon 
Handford. The head coach spoke only briefly, 
but somehow he gave a feeling of confidence, of 
assurance that all would be well on the morrow. 
His voice rang full and clear, his eyes flashed, and 
when he concluded with the words which had in- 
spired the team all the season, the cheers shook the 
rafters of the gym. 

“ Three yards I must have, come what may; I 
will not be denied !” 

Ah, that was it! The fighting .spirit ! The 
spirit which would overcome all obstacles and 
crash its way forward to victory! The spirit 
which would not be denied ! 

The meeting ended with the singing of the Rari- 
tan Alma Mater, the SQng pouring forth like a 
benediction from three hundred lusty throats. It 
was an inspiration, a harbinger of victory. 

Ted and Dick walked back to the room together. 
Ted was silent, thinking perhaps of the chance 
he had lost; the chance to fight for his team, for 
his college. 

“Dick,” he said slowly, “I almost wish I hadn’t 
done the right thing. ’ ’ 

They were silent for a moment, and when Dick 
spoke, he looked fairly into his roommate’s som- 
ber eyes. 

“Five years from now, it won’t matter so much 
120 


THE FIRST HALF 


whether you played against Hillwood or not,” he 
announced. “But it will count a lot to know that 
you had the courage to do the square thing. ’ ’ 

“Thanks,” Ted answered. “I suppose you’re 
right, Dick. But it’s hard, mighty hard.” 

Jim Smith and some of the others dropped into 
their room after the meeting and sat around and 
talked until ten o’clock. They were nervous, as 
they always were before the big game, and they 
tried vainly to talk of other things besides foot- 
ball. But the conversation always reverted to the 
game. 

“I wish you were going to play, Ted,” Jim re- 
marked. i ‘ That tackle position is going to be our 
one weak spot.” 

“Maybe Hillwood won’t discover it,” Dick sug- 
gested. 

“They probably know about it already,” Jim 
answered. “And if they don’t, they’ll find out 
quick enough. MacDonald is too light. ’ ’ 

“The rest of the team will back him up, per- 
haps.” 

Ted shook his head. 

“You know what Handy says. No team is 
stronger than its weakest man.” 

“Well, let’s hope for the best.” Jim arose. 
“ It ’s ten o ’clock and we ’re supposed to be in bed. ’ ’ 

“Feel sleepy ?”• 

“No, I won’t be able to sleep for hours yet. 
It’s always that way before a game.” 

“You’d better go to bed, though; it’s orders.” 

121 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

There was a pause, which was broken by Ted. 

“I’m glad that you can play, Jim,” he said. 
“It makes up for my absence.” 

“Not a bit of it. I’d willingly drop out if you 
could get in the game.” 

“It’s mighty good of you to say so, Jim.” Ted 
arose. “Well, good-night and good luck. I’ll 
yell for you from the side lines.” 

“I hope you’ll have cause to yell.” Jim hesi- 
tated on the threshold. “Vanderwart rooms 
across the hall, doesn’t he?” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s too bad he doesn’t know how to fight. 
If he did, our problem would be solved. ’ ’ 

“He can fight if he wants to,” Ted maintained. 
“Maybe to-morrow, if he gets in the game, he’ll 
wake up.” 

Jim shook his head. 

“ No, ” he answered. ‘ ‘ He ’ll never be a football 
player. ’ ’ 

That seemed to be the opinion of the men on 
the team, of the coach, and of the students in 
general. Only Ted clung to his belief in the fresh- 
man candidate. Ted, of all the college, main- 
tained that he would make good. 

Well, the next day would tell the tale. Ted 
had done his best. Dick lay for a long time, star- 
ing into the darkness. And/ when he finally 
drifted into troubled slumber, he dreamed that 
Van had picked up a fumble and had run the 
length of the field for a touchdown. 

122 


THE FIRST HALF 


The day of the game dawned bright and clear. 
Dick awoke with a dry mouth and parched throat, 
but after a good breakfast in the Commons, felt 
as fit as a fiddle. At nine o’clock the crowds be- 
gan to pour into town. The Raritan-Hillwood 
game is another Yale-Harvard battle, only on a 
smaller scale. And to the town and the college 
it means a good deal. Special trains are run from 
New York, the Raritan streets are alive with peo- 
ple and automobiles. It is a gala occasion, and 
the students make the most of it. 

Ted and Dick walked downtown and watched 
the automobiles — long strings of them — pour over 
the Landing Bridge. The morning dragged 
along ; it seemed as if two o ’clock would never ar- 
rive. At twelve they reported for dinner and 
were forced to eat a good-sized meal under the 
watchful eye of the coach. An hour later the 
squad made its way to the gymnasium. The 
players were silent mostly, although occasionally 
someone would attempt to create the impression 
that he was not nervous by singing a snatch of 
song or making an irrelevant remark. There was 
a tenseness in the air which everyone who has 
played in a big football game understands. The 
only member of the Raritan team who acted at 
all naturally was Vanderwart. The big freshman 
sat apart from the others. He dressed slowly, 
saying little to any one, apparently unaffected by 
the importance of the occasion. He reminded 
Dick of a big bear, basking sleepily in the sunshine. 

123 . 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


Handford passed from one man to another, giv- 
ing a word of advice here, a warning there, speak- 
ing casually, his whole attitude one of confidence. 
The players knew that the game meant a lot to 
him ; and more than one of them made a silent vow, 
there in the dressing room, that they would play 
as they had never played before. 

The Raritan team was the first on the field, a 
great roar greeting them as they trotted through 
the gate, Captain Way in the lead. They lined up 
quickly, eagerly, muscles tense, cleats biting the 
soft turf. The college cheer floated across to 
them, the voice of the quarterback rang out clearly, 
decisively. Up and down the field they swept, 
moving like a well-oiled machine, each man taking 
Ms place swiftly, smoothly. 

A roar from the north stands announced that 
Hillwood had made its appearance, and out of the 
corner of his eye Dick glimpsed the rival team. 
They were all of one size, giving an impression of 
solidness. They ran through their signals slowly, 
the quarterback’s voice, raspingly clear, soaring 
above the cheering of the stands. 

Both teams broke ranks, and Jim Smith and the 
Raritan center took their places near the center 
of the field. Jimmy Way and Tabb, the quarter- 
back, set themselves to receive the kick. Smith 
sent a booming punt down the field, Tabb gathered 
it in his arms and dashed ahead for a short ten 
yards. 

A man in blue jersey and flannel trousers ran 
124 


THE FIRST HALF 


upon the field, signaling for the two captains to 
get together for a consultation. Way and the 
Hillwood leader met near the forty yard line, a 
coin flipped in the air and fell head up. Hill- 
wood, winning the toss, elected to receive. The 
whistle blew, the substitutes rolled themselves in 
blankets, and the varsity lined up across the fifty 
yard line. 

“All ready, Hillwood f” 

“All ready/ ’ 

“All ready, Raritan ?” 

“All right here.” 

The whistle blew. Jim Smiths foot met the 
leather in a resounding thud and the ball settled 
into the arms of the Hillwood fullback. Sur- 
rounded by the entire visiting team, he dashed 
ahead. There was a crashing of bodies, a clash 
of padded shoulders, and Jimmy Way dove 
through the interference and brought the runner 
to the ground on the twenty yard line. The teams 
lined up quickly; the stands grew silent. 

‘ ‘ Six-ten-eight-seven ! ’ 1 

The Hillwood backfield shifted to the right and 
swept around the end which Dick was guarding. 
It was MacDonald’s duty to break up the inter- 
ference, but he was cleverly put out of the play 
by his opponent. Dick crashed into the mass of 
moving bodies ; and as an ankle flashed by 
him, seized it and held on tightly. The whistle 
blew. 

“Second down, ten to gain.” 

125 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

Hillwood had been repulsed in its first on- 
slaught. Again the visiting quarterback directed 
his attack toward the right side of the line, but 
this time MacDonald stopped the advance single 
handed. Jim Smith patted him on the back, the 
others called encouraging words. Perhaps he 
would do his part, after all. Perhaps Hillwood 
would be deceived and not test out the right tackle 
any farther. It seemed at first as if this hope 
would be realized, for the next play was aimed 
at the center of the line. Again Hillwood was 
held without a gain. 

The visiting fullback dropped back and punted 
to Tabb, who was tackled in his tracks. Jim 
Smith crashed through for six yards, the fullback 
added four more in a stab at center, and it was 
first down. The Raritan rooters cheered wildly; 
Hillwood sent an answering yell barking across 
the field. 

Tabb called for a forward pass, and the line 
shifted to the right. Jimmy Way took the ball 
from the center and set himself to shoot it ahead, 
but the opposing left tackle was on him like a 
flash, bringing him to the ground for a ten yard 
loss. Dick’s heart sank. The player who had 
broken through was MacDonald’s man; Mac had 
been unable to hold him. On the sidelines, Ted 
White was standing motionless in the midst of the 
Raritan substitutes. Beside him was Vander- 
wart. As Dick looked at them, Ted said some- 
thing to Van, and the freshman nodded his head. 

126 


THE FIRST HALF 


Dick wondered vaguely if Van would be given a 
chance in the game. 

Raritan tried a forward pass, which was 
grounded, and then Smith kicked to Hillwood ’s 
twenty yard line. The visitors gained two yards 
through center, but on the next play, their half- 
back fumbled, and Tabb fell on the ball for Rari- 
tan. The stands arose to a man and yelled wildly. 
It was the home team’s ball on their opponent’s 
twenty-five yard line. The quarterback snapped 
out the signals. Jimmy Way crashed against 
center. But Hillwood held; there was no gain. 
Twice more Raritan hurled all the power of her 
backfield against the opposing defense, and twice 
more was repulsed without a gain. On the fourth 
down, Tabb called for a try at placement. The 
ball was directly in front of the crossbar; Ted 
White could have kicked the goal easily. But 
could Jim Smith do it? Was he equal to the test? 

Eagerly the men crouched on the line, while Jim 
measured the distance to the goal posts. The 
Hillwood players strained forward anxiously; the 
center snapped the ball to the waiting quarterback, 
who jabbed it into the ground. Jim took a step 
forward, swung his foot and kicked. A figure 
leaped in front of him, the pigskin crashing 
against his chest. There was a yell, a wild 
scramble, and a Hillwood guard pounced upon 
the ball. Raritan had lost her chance to score. 
MacDonald’s man had broken through again. 

The whistle blew. 


127 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


4 ‘First quarter/’ the referee announced. 

The trainer ran out with sponge and pail. 
Curiously, Dick glanced toward the sidelines. 
Handford was standing by himself; his face im- 
passive. Ted White was talking gloomily to one 
of the assistant coaches; Van, wrapped in a 
blanket, looked out upon the field with half closed 
eyes. Dick frowned irritably at the sight of him. 
Why didn ’t he wake up and play the game like a 
man? He was big enough, he — . The whistle 
blew ugain, and Dick hurried across the field to 
where the teams had gathered. 

It was Hillwood ’s ball on their thirty yard line. 
Raritan expected them to kick out of danger, but 
they decided to rush. Their quarterback, sud- 
denly awake to the possibilities, sent the backfield 
crashing against the opposing right tackle for a 
clear gain of ten yards. The Hillwood rooters 
went into ecstasies; it was their team’s first sub- 
stantial advance. Again the opposing fullback 
crashed against tackle ; again McDonald gave way 
for a big gain. Mac shut his teeth grimly and 
charged forward, but his opponent brushed him 
aside, opening a big hole for his backfield. Dick 
rushed into the breach and threw himself against 
the interference. They went down in a heap, and 
the runner passed over them. Again Hillwood 
had made her distance. 

Jimmy Way rushed up to Mac and exhorted him 
to play low. The Raritan secondary defense 
moved toward the right. But they could not stop 
128 


THE FIRST HALF 

Hillwood ’s progress. The visitors had discov- 
ered the one weak point, and, as Handford had 
said, no team is stronger than its weakest man. 
The advance became a procession; yard by yard, 
the visiting team forced its way down the field. 
And always they crashed against Raritan’s right 
tackle. MacDonald, bleeding from a cut over his 
eye, played courageously, but he was too light. 
The Hillwood team, scenting a touchdown, redou- 
bled its efforts. Anxiously Dick glanced at the 
timekeeper. He was looking closely at the watch 
in his hand. There was a chance that the half 
would be over before the visitors could score. 

On the twenty yard line, Jimmy Way broke 
through and stopped the runner before he could 
get fairly started. But it was only a moment’s 
respite. On the next rush Hillwood gained eight 
yards, and the ball lay in the shadow of the goal- 
posts. With the whole team playing close to the 
line, Raritan tried desperately to stop the ad- 
vance. But it was no use. In two rushes the 
Hillwood fullback brought the ball within a foot 
of the last white line. And then, inspired by the 
hope of victory, the entire opposing backfield 
massed against MacDonald and forced him back- 
ward for a touchdown. ^ moment later, they 
kicked the goal, and score stood, Hillwood 7, Rari- 
tan 0. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE AWAKENING 

H ILLWOOD kicked off, and Jim Smith, 
dashing forward recklessly, brought the 
ball to the center of the field before he 
was downed. The Raritan team lined up eagerly, 
anxions to tie the score if possible before they 
faced Handford in the dressing room. But be- 
fore Tabb could bark out his signals, the whistle 
blew, signifying the end of the half. Led by 
Jimmy Way, the Raritan varsity trotted over to 
the field house, the substitutes, carrying blankets 
and sweaters, trailing in their wake. 

In the dressing room, all was confusion. The 
place smelled of liniment and alcohol. Jake Bent- 
ley, the trainer, rushed from one player to another. 
Jim Smith threw himself face downward upon the 
bench, Way squatted on the floor and nursed a 
swollen ankle. MacDonald, the man responsible 
for Hillwood’s score, sat on one end of the long 
bench, his head in his hands. The blood from the 
cut over his eyes had dried upon his face, his jer- 
sey was torn, his trousers covered with a layer of 
dirt. His whole attitude bespoke weariness ; and 
impulsively Dick went over and sat beside him. 

130 


THE AWAKENING 


i ‘You ’re all in, Mac,” he said. “But never 
mind, we’ll get them the next half.” 

But MacDonald shook his head. 

“I’ve lost the game,” he half sobbed. “I’ve 
lost the game. ’ ’ 

Handford held up his hand for silence. 

“Boys,” he said slowly, “you’re all doing your 
level best and I’m not going to criticize you. 
Next half, we’ll try to plug up that hole in the right 
side of the line, and I want you to go out and 
make two touchdowns. You can do it; you’re a 
better team than Hillwood. Remember to fight 
every minute. I want you to take the ball on the 
kickoff and not to lose it until it is behind the goal. 
And be sure that you remember this: < Three 
yards I must have, come what may; I will not be 
denied .’ ” 

Dick could see the players straighten up at the 
sound of the familiar words, the battle cry of the 
Raritan team. Muscles tense, he listened eagerly. 
All weariness was forgotten ; he wanted only to go 
out there upon the field and show Hillwood that 
Raritan was the better team. Handford went 
from one to another of the players, offering a bit 
of advice, calling attention to an error of omission, 
but always speaking evenly, calmly, without trace 
of excitement. Dick arose and walked across the 
room to where Ted was standing. 

“If you had only been in, we would have led by 
two touchdowns,” he announced. “Mac is too 
light to stop their charges.” 

131 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“I know,” Ted answered miserably. He 
glanced around the room. “Where’s Van!” 

“I don’t know. Let’s find him.” 

They discovered Van finally in an adjoining 
room, where he was talking to the college janitor 
about some engineering feature of the heating sys- 
tem of the building. Football was evidently far 
from his thoughts. For the first time since Dick 
had known him, Ted got mad. He seized Van 
by the shoulder. 

“Do you mean to tell me that you’re talking 
about furnaces when your team is getting 
beaten by Hillwood!” he demanded. “Good 
gracious, man, haven’t you any college spirit at 
all!” 

Van looked at him wonderingly. 

“I’m ready to go in at any time,” he answered. 
“What good can I do out there in the dressing 
room!” 

“Good! You can do a lot of good. You can 
give the fellows a word of encouragement and 
tell them that they played a good game. You can 
help Jimmy Way with his ankle; you can show a 
little interest in the team anyhow.” 

Van flushed slightly at the sneer in Ted’s voice. 
“I didn’t think about that,” he said slowly. 

“That’s the trouble with you,” Ted continued. 
“You don’t think about anything but your own 
big hulking body. You’re too lazy to play foot- 
ball, too lazy to do anything except sit around and 
watch other people work.” 

132 


THE AWAKENING 


“Go easy, Ted,” Dick interrupted. “You’re 
excited. ’ ’ 

“Of course, I’m excited. Who wouldn’t be ex- 
cited in a time like this, except this big boob here. ’ ’ 
He motioned toward Van, and his action denoted 
infinite contempt. 

Van’s face turned pale; a little spot of red 
showed in each cheek. In the other room the team 
was preparing to return to the field. They were 
all standing up listening to the final words of 
Coach Handford, all except MacDonald, who still 
sat huddled on the bench. 

“Look at Mac out there,” Ted demanded. 
‘ ‘ There ’s a boy only half your size who ’s playing 
his heart out for the team. If you were the man 
you ought to be, you’d be in his place and he 
would be sitting on the sidelines where you are. ’ ’ 

Van had learned to worship the very ground 
Ted walked on, and the words of the older boy 
must have cut him to the quick. Suddenly the 
muscles of his jaw grew tense, his hands opened 
and shut spasmodically. 

“Why don’t you play?” he asked Ted. 

“Because I can’t. Because last year I took 
some money for coaching a team, and it wouldn’t 
be square to play against Hillwood.” Suddenly 
his manner changed. “Van,” he said pleadingly, 
“you don’t realize how much this game means to 
me. If we lose, it will be because of my mistake, 
and I’ll feel guilty all the rest of my life. I had 
hoped that you would be able to take my place. 

133 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


I’ve worked with you all season, taught you every- 
thing I know about the game. And I thought that 
when I dropped out, you’d go in and win for me. 
But you haven’t stood the test. You’ve quit on 
the job.” 

At the mention of the word quit, Van’s face 
grew crimson. A moment later it was as white 
as the proverbial sheet. 

“I’m sorry, Ted,” he said slowly. “I didn’t 
think.” 

The great muscles of his arms grew tense; his 
jaw set in a straight line. 

“Where’s Mr. Handford,” he said. “I’m go- 
ing to play in the second half. ’ ’ 

But the coach shook his head slowly. 

“Not now,” he said. “Later, maybe.” 

While Hillwood was preparing to kick off, Dick 
kept his eye on Van. The big freshman was pac- 
ing up and down the sidelines, his eyes glued on 
the ball. A change had come over him; his in- 
difference had disappeared; he was again the rag- 
ing young giant who had won the Proclamation 
Rush single-handed. 

“If Handy would only let him in,” Dick told 
himself, “he’d win the game for us.” 

The whistle blew, and the ball sailed into the 
arms of Jim Smith. Like a flash he was down the 
field, but a Hillwood end met him with a crash, 
and the ball was dead on the twenty yard line. 
Then Raritan showed something of the spirit 
which Handford had talked about between the 
134 


THE AWAKENING 


halves. Smith made six yards around end, Way 
tore off six more through tackle, and Tabb knifed 
his way through guard and tackle for five more. 
Down the field they marched, five, four, three 
yards at a time. Hillwood rallied desperately, but 
the home team passed the fifty yard line and con- 
tinued its mad march. But always it was on the 
left side of the line that the gains were made. 
The team was saving MacDonald, hoping against 
hope that he would hold his man until a touch- 
down was scored. 

The Hillwood secondary defense, sensing the 
plan of attack, massed to the left of the center. 
The gains grew smaller ; and Tabb, thinking to 
catch the opposing team by surprise, directed a 
sudden attack to the right. But MacDonald’s op- 
ponent crashed through and stopped the runner 
for a loss. The ruse had not worked ; it was sec- 
ond down and twelve yards to go on Hillwood ’s 
twenty-six yard line. Jim Smith made two yards 
through tackle, Way counted four more around 
end. On the fourth down, after a brief consulta- 
tion, it was decided to try for a field goal. 

Jim Smith dropped back and held out his arms. 
The pass from center was a little to one side, and 
before Jim could set himself for the kick, MacDon- 
ald’s opponent had forced his way through. Jim 
attempted to run, but was downed for a loss ; and 
Hillwood, for the first time during the half, held 
possession of the ball. 

Profiting by their experience of the second quar- 
135 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


ter, they slammed their backfield against Mac- 
Donald, and each time they advanced a few 
yards. Desperately Raritan tried to stop their 
rushes, but all to no avail. They had found the 
one weak spot in the whole defense, and Raritan 
was powerless to close up the gap. MacDonald 
was their weakest man, and the team was no 
stronger than he was. 

Gradually the ball approached the center of the 
field, passed the line, and continued its slow prog- 
ress toward the goal. The Hillwood rooters sent 
cheer after cheer from the north stand; Raritan, 
defiant until the end, answered with the “long lo- 
comotive.” The rasping voice of the opposing 
quarterback pierced the din. The sharp call of 
the signals was followed by the crash of bodies. 
And invariably, when the whistle blew, the ball 
was a few yards nearer the goal. On the thirty 
yard line, Raritan held firm for two rushes, but on 
the third down, the Hillwood fullback crashed for- 
ward for ten yards. When the mass had un- 
tangled itself, MacDonald lay stretched upon the 
ground. The trainer rushed out and sponged his 
face with water. Mac opened his eyes, and strug- 
gled to rise. 

“I’m all right, ’ ’ he said. 4 4 Let me up. ’ ’ 

Jim Smith and Dick helped him to his feet, and 
he staggered along between them. He was as limp 
as a rag. 

“You’d better go out, Mac,” Jim said. 
4 4 You ’re all in.” 


13G 


THE AWAKENING 


But he shook his head. 

“No,” he answered stubbornly. “Let me 
play.” 

Dick looked toward the sidelines for a sign from 
Handford. And just at that moment, a big figure 
in a red jersey raced upon the field, waving his 
arms wildly. It was Van, whom the coach had at 
last sent in to play for Raritan. 

It was Hillwood ’s ball on the twenty yard line. 
The rival team had crashed ahead for almost the 
length of the field ; a touchdown seemed inevitable. 
The visiting stands were a mass of waving ban- 
ners and cheering students. Then Van entered 
the game. 

One glance at him was sufficient to tell Dick 
Arnold that something was about to happen. His 
black eyes were flashing, the cords of his neck 
stood out like steel sinews. The miracle had taken 
place, the fighting spirit had at last been 
awakened. 

The Hillwood quarterback, anxious to test the 
new player, slammed his backfield against the 
right side of the line. With the snap of the ball, 
Van leaped forward, brushing his opponent aside 
as if he had been a mere figurehead. He crashed 
through the interference, his long arms encircling 
the legs of the man with the ball. The whistle 
blew. 

“Second down, fifteen to gain.” 

Hillwood had lost five yards; the unexpected 
had happened. 


137 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


The stands cheered wildly; the Raritan players, 
■sensing renewed hope in the strength of the giant 
freshman, dug their cleats into the yielding tnrf 
.and eagerly awaited the oncoming charge. Their 
very attitude was a challenge. Hillwood, slow to 
grasp the import of the new spirit which had sud- 
denly been born, accepted the challenge for re- 
newed battle and crashed against the Raritan line. 
And again, Vanderwart, rising like a Titan in his 
new found strength, hurled the runner backward 
for a loss of four yards. Eagerly he sought his 
place in the line, tensely he waited the next on- 
slaught. Across the field roared the cry of Rari- 
tan, and at the end of the ringing cheer was re- 
peated thrice in rapid succession the name of the 
freshman substitute. If Van heard, he gave no 
sign. Eyes glued on the ball, he crouched on the 
line of scrimmage, waiting with vivid tensity for 
the next move of the rival team. It is doubtful 
that he heard the cheers. He seemed to have for- 
gotten the surging stands, to have f orgotten every- 
thing except that Ted White had called him a quit- 
ter. There was an expression of grim joy on his 
face which boded ill for the Hillwood team. 

Percy Vanderwart had found himself; he was 
meeting the test like a man, — he was keeping 
the faith. 

The ball snapped ; the lines crashed together and 
held. Suddenly the heap collapsed ; there was the 
.sound of a muffled voice, and the whistle blew. 

“Fourth down, nineteen yards to go.” 

138 


THE AWAKENING 


Again Hillwood had failed to gain an inch. 
The backfield gathered for a brief consultation; 
then the quarterback sprang to his position. 

“Kick formation, nine-six-seven-four !” he 
called. 

The fullback took his place about ten yards be- 
hind the line. 

“Watch the right tackle,” he said. “Hold 
them, fellows.” 

He opened his arms slowly, and the ball was 
passed to him in a straight line. Dick dashed in 
desperately, met the left halfback and hurled him 
aside. Beside him crashed another player in 
scarlet jersey. Roaring like a young bull, he 
leaped straight upward. The ball struck his out- 
stretched hand and bounded to one side, straight 
into Dick’s arms. Grasping it eagerly, the boy 
dashed ahead. A clear field was before him; in 
the rear, pursuit was in full swing. A sudden 
roar from the Raritan rooters reminded him of the 
beating of waves on a sandy beach. The white 
lines passed beneath him with startling swiftness ; 
the pounding of feet sounded further away. Dick 
was outdistancing his pursuers. 

But the strain of the hard game was beginning 
to tell ; his feet lagged, the goal posts seemed miles 
away. But suddenly they loomed over him, and 
with a choking gasp he stumbled forward across 
the last white line. 

It was decided to give Van the chance to kick 
the goal. Very carefully he measured the dis- 
139 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

tance, took a short step forward and swung his 
foot against the leather. The ball sailed forward 
in a graceful semi-circle, struck one of the uprights 
and bounded back on to the field. Van had 
missed ; Hillwood led, seven to six. 

There was a brief intermission before the fourth 
period began. Van, tears of rage in his eyes, 
stamped up and down, oblivious to the words of his 
teammates. 

i ‘Hurry up,” he kept repeating. “We’ve got 
to make another touchdown.” 

Hillwood elected to receive the kickoff, and Van 
was down the field before any of his teammates. 
He crashed joyfully against the runner and car- 
ried him backward five yards by the sheer force 
of his charge. The team took their places eagerly. 

“Get the ball,” Jim Way commanded. “Get 
the ball.” 

The lines met, and a Hillwood halfback squirmed 
his way through center for three yards. Van 
stood erect, the light of battle in his eyes. 

“Push them back,” he roared. “Push them 
back.” 

He stood bareheaded, the picture of power and 
youthful courage. Towering above the rest of 
the players, he looked like a gladiator of old, 
ready and anxious to match his superb strength 
against the best that his opponent could offer. 
Again the teams clashed, and again Hillwood 
forced her way through center for three yards. 
It was third down, and four to go. 

140 


THE AWAKENING 


The voice of the opposing quarterback rose 
above the din of the stands. 

‘ i Eight-ten-seven-five ! ’ ’ 

Van stood erect, his glance sweeping over the 
two teams. Hillwood shifted to the right, and the 
backfield swung around end. Van met the inter- 
ference, crashed through them, picked up the man 
with the ball and threw him to the ground as if he 
had been a mere pigmy. The Raritan rooters 
roared their approval. 

On the next play Hillwood kicked to their fifty- 
yard line. Then, while the setting sun cast long 
shadows over the field, Raritan began her ad- 
vance. Time and again the backfield crashed 
against the right side of the opposing line, and 
each time the freshman tackle opened a big hole 
through which the runner plunged for a gain. 
Yard by yard, the team forced its way forward. 

The Raritan stands called loudly for a touch- 
down ; time raced along. They reached the thirty- 
yard line, swept on for another five yards, and 
made first down on the next play. Hillwood 
rallied desperately, and for two rushes held with- 
out yielding an inch. But on the next attempt 
Jim Smith followed Van for eight yards through 
tackle. 

Fourth down and two yards to gain! Could 
they make it ? The stands were in an uproar, the 
voice of the quarterback could barely be heard 
above the din. He called his signals raspingly. 
Smith through Vanderwart ! That seemed to be 
141 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


the winning play, the combination which could not 
be stopped! The two men who had proved un- 
worthy at the beginning of the season were win- 
ning the game for Raritan. 

On the next play, Jim Smith took the ball clear 
across the line. Fighting, pushing, squirming his 
way forward, he forged ahead yard after yard. 
And in front of him, clearing the path to victory, 
raged the freshman substitute, Percy Vander- 
wart. 

Smith kicked the goal, and the team lined up to 
receive the kickoff. But in the next play time was 
called. Raritan had won, thirteen to seven, and 
football history had been made. 

The students surged happily upon the field. 
From the window of the dressing room, the 
players could see them executing the famous snake 
dance around the enclosure. Suddenly Dick 
Arnold felt infinitely tired. Wearily he sank 
down upon the bench, his face in his hands. 

Someone touched him on the shoulder, and he 
looked up questioningly. It was his father, his 
eyes shining with excitement, his professional 
dignity forgotten. 

“I came all the way out of the West to watch 
you play,” he announced. “And it was the 
greatest game I’ve ever seen.” 

While Dick was dressing he plied the boy wdth 
questions. He was eager to hear about the news- 
paper work, about Ted White and other new 
friends. Suddenly he spied Van coming out of the 
142 


THE AWAKENING 

shower room. The big freshman was his old self 
again, easy-going, pleasant, good natured. The 
doctor pointed to him. 

“That boy is the greatest football player it’s 
ever been my good fortune to look upon,” he 
said. i ‘ Where did you find him f ’ ’ 

“Until to-day,” Dick answered, “he was only 
a second string substitute. Ted White made him 
the player he is.” 

The older man was silent for a moment. 

“I want to meet Ted White,” he said finally. 
“He seems to be a man worth knowing.” 

Together they made their way to Dick’s room 
where Doctor Arnold and Ted White clasped 
hands in a firm grip of friendship. A moment 
later, Van entered the room. At the sight of the 
visitor, he tried to step out, but the others cor- 
nered him. 

From below them, on old Kings Campus, came 
the roar of many voices. They rushed to the 
window and looked out, their heads framed in the 
square of yellow light. One of the surging crowd 
below discovered them. The cheering grew into a 
roar, and above the din sounded the Raritan yell. 

“Rah, bow-wow-wow, Raritan, Captain Arnold, 
Captain Arnold, Captain Arnold!” 

Dick looked questioningly at Ted, who was 
smiling. 

“You’ve been elected captain,” he said. “We 
did it while you were talking to your dad. ’ ’ 


143 


CHAPTER XII 


A QUESTION OF MONEY 

FTER the game that night there was the 



usual celebration, with a big bonfire on 


the Commons and speeches by everyone 


from Coach Handford to the water boy. Doctor 
Arnold was there, and after it was all over, he took 
Ted, Van and Dick downtown and treated them 
to all the ice cream they could eat. Then they 
went back to the dormitory and talked until after 
midnight. 

Football, of course, was the main topic, but to- 
ward the end of the evening, after Van had almost 
fallen asleep in his chair and had finally been in- 
duced to go to bed, the older man brought up the 
subject of working through college. 

‘ ‘ It’s a splendid thing for some fellows,’ ’ he 
said, “and has improved Dick a good deal. But 
how about the proposition as a regular practice, 
Ted? What do you think?” 

Ted was silent for a moment before answering, 
but when he spoke, his words showed that he had 
given the question a lot of thought. 

“As a rule,” he answered, “I wouldn’t advise 
a fellow to try to work his way unless he has 


144 


A QUESTION OF MONEY 

special qualifications. It’s a hard job, and if a 
boy wants to make good at it, he has to have 
three things. The first is a good foundation in 
his subjects. He can’t come to college poorly 
prepared and put time on outside work. He 
needs every hour in the day for his lessons, and 
if he doesn’t have them, he’ll get stuck out. The 
second thing is an ability to work fast and well. 
He must learn to attend to his college duties in a 
certain time, and leave the other part of the day 
for his other work. To put it differently, he has 
to be systematic and quick. And finally, he has to 
have all kinds of grit and determination. No quit- 
ter can work his way through college ; it’s a man’s 
job.” 

The doctor nodded. 

'“ Since meeting you, Ted, I begin to see that it 
is, ’ ’ he answered. ‘ ‘ How about Dick here ? He ’s 
done well, hasn’t he?” 

“He sure has.” 

The doctor smiled. 

“I suppose you know that I opposed it at first,” 
he said. “But I see now that I was wrong.” It 
was his belated apology. “But I’m not quite sure 
yet that Dick ought to be earning his own money 
altogether,” he continued. 

“Why?” 

“Because he doesn’t need to. And the money 
he earns might very well be given to some other 
fellow who has to have it to get through.” 

“But there aren’t many men in college who 
145 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


could carry Dick’s work/’ Ted replied. “It takes 
a certain kind of ability to write for papers. ’ ’ 

“Aren’t there any literary men trying to get 
through by themselves?” 

‘ ‘ Outside of Ted, ’ ’ Dick volunteered, ‘ ‘ every fel- 
low connected with our college publications is well 
to do.” 

‘ ‘ Humph ! I didn ’t know Ted was a writer. ’ ’ 

“He’s an associate editor of the college 
weekly. ’ ’ 

The older man looked thoughtful. 

“You see my point, don’t you?” he persisted. 
“Supposing something happened so that Ted’s 
source of income failed. Don’t you think that it 
would be up to Dick to give Ted a chance at the 
newspaper game ? ’ ’ 

“Possibly, if such a thing should happen,” Ted 
answered. “But my source of income goes on 
forever, like Tennyson’s brook.” 

“Well, you can’t always tell.” The doctor dis- 
missed the subject with a wave of his hand. ‘ ‘ Only 
I want Dick to know that he doesn’t have to work 
unless he really wishes to.” 

“ He ’s lucky, in a way. ” Ted arose. “I guess 
I’ll turn in and leave you two for a chat,” he an- 
nounced. 

After he had gone, father and son held a long 
powwow. The weeks since they had seen each 
other had been busy ones; but finally, the gossip 
exhausted, they followed Ted to the land of 
dreams. On Monday morning Doctor Arnold 
146 


A QUESTION OF MONEY 

went home, and college settled down to its usual 
routine. 

It was a long winter, and an uneventful one. 
There were activities, of course, varsity basket- 
ball and swimming, and the various class athletic 
leagues and tournaments; but Ted, Van and Dick 
did not play basketball, and the class affairs were 
of only minor importance. So they settled down 
to a round of study and play, and waited eagerly 
for the beginning of the track season, which would 
call them out of doors again. For both Ted and 
Dick were track men, and in Dick’s case, at least, 
that sport was more attractive than football. Ted 
thought a good deal of it, too; even in his busy 
days of the past two years he had found a half 
hour or so every day for his practice stunt. He 
was a sprinter, and a good one, and gossip had it 
that he was in line for the captaincy. But early 
in January, just when everything was going along 
smoothly, something happened which made it look 
for a time as if Ted would have to give up his 
track work, and possibly his college course. 

It was Ted himself who broke the news to Dick. 
At the close of a bitterly cold day he pushed open 
the door of their room and sank disconsolately 
upon a chair. It was evident at once that some- 
thing was wrong. 

‘ 4 What’s the trouble?” Dick asked. 

i 1 Lots,” Ted answered dully. “I’m afraid, 
Dick, that it’s all up with me.” 

“How?” 


147 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“I thought things were going along too 
smoothly to last,” Ted continued bitterly. “It 
was too good to be true. ’ ’ 

“Well, what’s happened?” 

“My source of supply has stopped.” 

Dick was frankly puzzled. 

“For the love of Mike, explain things.” 

Ted smiled bitterly. 

“The President’s well has dried up,” he an- 
nounced. 

‘ 4 What ? Dried up ? ” 

“Yes, either that, or it’s changed its course. 
At any rate, I can’t get water from it any more.” 

“But, but — ” Dick couldn’t quite understand 
at first. “You mean the well where you get your 
water for the dorm has dried up?” 

i 1 That ’s what I mean. ’ ’ 

“But it will come back, won’t it?” 

“I don’t know.” Ted arose and began pacing 
up and down the room. “For the last few days 
something has been the matter,” he explained. 
“We’ve had a hard time to draw the water and 
have just managed to get enough. This afternoon 
one of the fellows working for me came around 
and said that the President wanted to see me. I 
went over, and Prexy announced that the well had 
probably changed its course. At any rate, there 
was no more water. ’ ’ 

“But they’ll dig again and find it, won’t they?” 

“Even if they did, it would take a month or so. 
But they’re not going to.” 

148 


A QUESTION OF MONEY 

“Why!” 

“The City Council has just passed an ordinance 
for new filters for the Raritan Water Works. 
When they are put in shape our city water will be 
all right and we won’t need the well.” 

“Humph! Looks pretty bad, doesn’t it?” 

“It sure does.” 

“And your water .scheme is all up the flue?” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s hard lines, Ted. What are you going to 
do?” 

“I don’t know.” Ted spoke listlessly. The 
shock was a big one. 

“But you’ve got money saved up. You can 
make it the rest of the year, can’t you?” 

Ted shook his head. 

“I’ve been pretty foolish, I suppose,” he said 
apologetically. “You see, Hick, I never had much 
money before, and I’ve always wanted good things. 
So this year, when the water scheme seemed so 
sure and my income was so steady, I bought regu- 
lar clothes and spent more than was absolutely 
necessary. The result is that I’m in pretty poor 
shape right now.” 

‘ i How much have you got in the bank ? ’ ’ 

“About a hundred dollars or so.” 

“And there’s no hope from the water scheme?” 
It seemed hard to believe. 

“Nb.” 

‘ ‘ What are you going to do ? ” 

“I don’t know.” There was a world of hope- 
149 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

lessness in Ted’s voice. He seemed completely 
knocked out. “I guess it’s back to cutting lawns 
for me. The only catch there is that all the jobs 
are taken by now. Maybe I ’ll have to quit, Dick. ’ ’ 

“Not on your tintype! We’ll make it some- 
how, Ted.” 

But how? Dick had learned enough about the 
difficulties of working one’s way through college 
to know that Ted’s task was by no means easy. 
Had it been the first of the year, with college just 
starting and most of the available positions still 
open, there would have been no doubt of Ted’s 
ability to find something. But in the middle of 
the term it was a different matter. Every pos- 
sible way of earning money had been discovered 
by the clear-thinking and wide-awake fellows who 
were forced to depend on themselves, and there 
was only one chance in fifty for Ted to run across 
a money-making scheme. As he said, even the 
lawn-cutting jobs, which he had mainly depended 
upon last year, had been snapped up. 

Ted, however, was anything but a quitter, and 
after the first shock of disappointment had passed 
he tried his best to be optimistic about it. But 
ore can’t live on smiles alone; and after a week 
had gone by without any developments, he began 
to get discouraged again in spite of himself. 

“I’ll simply have to find something soon, Dick,” 
he announced. 

They sat down then and there and had a long 
talk about it. All kinds of schemes came to mind, 
150 


A QUESTION OF MONEY 


but they found upon thinking them over that they 
were either impractical or had already been tried 
out. Once it seemed as if they had found some- 
thing worth while. It was a plan to form a bill- 
collecting agency, with Ted as the collector for the 
various firms in town which had dealings with the 
college boys. It had worked well at Kingston, 
they had heard, and they saw no reason why the 
same thing could not be done at Raritan. But 
after they had consulted two or three of the mer- 
chants downtown, they lost a good deal of their 
enthusiasm. The storekeepers were willing to try 
it out, but the commissions were so small and the 
students who ran bills so few that the returns 
would probably have been less than ten dollars a 
month. And Ted needed thirty at the very 
least. 

They went to bed that night pretty much dis- 
couraged, and neither of them slept very much. 
But along toward morning, when Dick was tossing 
around restlessly and wondering when daylight 
would appear, a sudden idea came to him. It oc- 
curred to him that Ted, with his experience in 
writing for and editing the college weekly, could 
undoubtedly cover the college for the Raritan 
Times as well as he could. The salary amounted 
to eight dollars a week; Ted needed that money, 
and Dick didn’t. Therefore, Dick decided it was 
up to him to turn the job over to Ted. 

It all seemed very clear, and he wondered why 
it had not occurred to him before. But — and 
151 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


Dick has always been ashamed of it — the thought 
no sooner came to him than he experienced just a 
little doubt about expressing it to Ted. It was a 
selfish impulse, but somehow it gripped him. For 
he knew that if he were to turn over the job to 
Ted, it would mean that he would have to call on 
his father again for help ; and that was something 
he had vowed not to do. It wlas a matter of pride, 
of course, and false pride at that; but for a time 
he could not get away from it. So he lay there 
in the darkened room and fought it out. And in 
the end, because he knew that it was the only thing 
to do, he decided to go to Ted at once and put the 
proposition before him. 

Ted was awake when Dick entered the room and 
snapped on his light. 

“What’s the matter?” he grumbled. “ House 
afire ? ’ 9 

“No, but I’ve thought of a way out for you, 
Ted.” 

The other boy sat up in bed at that. 

“What’s the big idea?” he asked. 

“Do you remember what Dad told us about a 
fellow keeping a job when he didn’t need it ? ” Dick 
countered. 

“Yes, a little.” 

“Well, I’ve got a job writing for the Raritan 
Times , but I can get along easily enough without 
it, and — and I’m going to resign.” 

Ted’s eyes opened wide. 

“Why?” 


152 


A QUESTION OF MONEY 

“So that you can have it. You’re just as good 
as I am — ” 

But Ted interrupted him. 

“See here, Dick,” he began, “I’m not quite such 
a pill as that. It isn’t only the money you get 
out of the job — ” 

“Nonsense! I have plenty of chances to write 
without pounding out stuff for a local paper every 
day. There’s the other newspapers, and the col- 
lege weekly. I tell you I ’m going to quit. ’ ’ 

Ted was silent for a moment, his eyes thought- 
ful. But finally he shook his head. 

“It’s mighty nice of you to suggest it, and I 
appreciate it more than I can say,” he announced. 
“But I can’t do it, Dick.” 

“Why can’t you? Don’t be silly about it, Ted. 
It really doesn’t mean anything to me, and you 
know it. ’ ’ 

“It does mean something to you, and — ” 

“But if you don’t do it, you’ll have to leave col- 
lege. There’s that to consider.” 

“Oh, I’ll work for a year and come back 
again. ’ ’ 

“It isn’t that that I mean. I’m thinking of the 
track team. We can’t very well get along with- 
out you.” 

Ted was silent then. He was a good track man, 
and of real value to the team. Without him, Rari- 
tan would be seriously crippled in the sprints. 

“We’ve simply got to beat Hillwood in track 
this year,” Dick urged. “They’ve beaten us in 
153 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


basketball, and it ’s up to us to clean up the slate. 
Without you, we can’t do it.” 

“Yes, but — ” 

“There are no buts. And Ted, you know it 
doesn’t mean anything to me. Dad’s got all the 
money he needs to keep me -here, and more too. 
And even if you don’t take the newspaper job, I’m 
going to give it up.” 

“If you quit working your way, will you go back 
to the fraternity house and the old stuff?” Ted 
asked suddenly. 

“Not on your life. I’m here for the next two 
years, with you and Van and the rest of them.” 

‘ ‘ And you ’re satisfied here ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, sir. This last term has meant more to 
me than the first two years of college put to- 
gether. ’ ’ 

“But you won’t have the satisfaction of know- 
ing that you’re putting yourself through.” 

“That doesn’t amount to much. At least, I 
know that I can do it if I have to, and I’ve had all 
the benefit of working for a term. Besides, I’m 
going to keep on with the outside papers, so I’ll 
be with you anyhow.” 

Ted seemed to be weakening, but he was hon- 
estly puzzled as to what to do. 

“Let me think it over for a day,” he suggested. 
“I’ll let you know then.” 

But Dick was resolved to fight the matter to a 
finish right there. 

“Nope,” he answered. “There’s only one 
154 


A QUESTION OF MONEY 

square thing for both of us to do ; me for myself 
and you for the college.” 

For a long time Ted sat thinking, his head in 
his hands, his eyes on the floor. Finally he 
looked up. 

“I wouldn’t let any fellow in the world do this 
thing for me but you, Dick,” he said. “But I’m 
not going to let any false pride stand in the way. 
Perhaps, some day- — ” 

“And you’ll take the job?” Dick put in. 

Ted nodded his head. 

“Yes,” he answered, “I’ll take the job.” 

They shook hands very seriously, and when it 
was over, both of them tried to laugh. But they 
were stronger friends at that moment than they 
had ever been before. Ted’s problem was solved; 
he would stick in college and run on the track 
team. 


CHAPTER XIII 


OVER THE CLIFF 

C OLLEGE life is much the same as life else- 
where ; long months pass with nothing un- 
usual happening, and then suddenly the 
monotony is broken and event follows event in 
rapid sequence. So it was at Raritan. Ted 
White, settling down to his newspaper work, re- 
linquished his well-paying water scheme and made 
good at the new job, just as all of those who knew 
him believed that he would. Van, between his 
lessons and his many new-found friends, managed 
to keep busy in one way or another; and so the 
little circle of which Dick Arnold was the center 
went along smoothly until track season arrived. 
It looked as if their troubles had ended with the 
football victory in the Hillwood game. 

With the first call for track candidates early in 
April, Ted and Dick were among the early candi- 
dates to report. At first, there had been some 
doubt as to Ted’s eligibility because of the incident 
of the football coaching. He had told only a few 
fellows the real reason for his failure to play 
against Hillwood, and the cause of his sudden 
dropping out was not generally known. When 
156 


OVER THE CLIFF 


the track season approached and Ted wondered 
whether or not he should play, he had gone di- 
rectly to the President of the college and had put 
the facts frankly before him. Before giving his 
decision he had written to the heads of several col- 
leges with whom Raritan had athletic relations; 
and they had been unanimous in declaring that 
Ted, by coaching a football team, had not made 
himself ineligible for track competition. So the 
President had decided that Ted could run if he 
wished to; and thus, for the time being, at least, 
that bothersome matter was settled. 

Even Ted did not worry about it. 

“I think that I paid for whatever wrong I may 
have done in keeping out of that last football 
game,” he said. 

“You sure have,” Van answered. “You’re not 
any more a professional athlete than I am.” 

So Ted reported as a candidate for the track 
team. It was a fine thing for Dick to have him 
on the squad, to walk to the field with him in the 
lengthening afternoons, and to talk track in the 
evenings as they had talked football a few months 
before. It brought the two boys closer together, 
made them better friends, if such a thing was pos- 
sible. It gained them new friends, too, for at 
Raritan that year the football and track groups 
were made up of almost entirely different fellows. 
Sometimes, it happens that way, even in a small 
college. 

As the preliminary season progressed it looked 
157 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


as though the track team would be one of the best 
in the college’s history. They won first place in 
their class at the Pennsylvania Relays, and a week 
afterward defeated Lafayette 62 to 50. A week 
later they won from Haverford by an even larger 
score ; and then, with only two more dual meets to 
come, the men began to center their efforts toward 
the affair with Hillwood. For in track as in foot- 
ball, the success or failure of the season depended 
on a victory over the rival college. 

Two weeks before the meet in question, Phil 
Patton, the Hillwood captain, took a trip to Rari- 
tan to decide about the order of events and to ar- 
range for the many details in connection with the 
contest. It was Dick’s duty, as assistant man- 
ager of the track team, to entertain Phil and see 
that everything went along smoothly, but there 
was a good deal more to be done than either 
of them realized, and after each question had 
been decided and the officials chosen, it was lunch 
time. 

4 4 You’d better stick around for dinner with us,” 
Dick suggested. “You can get back in plenty of 
time this afternoon.” 

The other boy consented, and after eating at 
the training table, went up to Dick’s room in the 
dormitory. It happened that the afternoon was 
free for Dick, so with his visitor he hiked across 
the campus for a look at the gymnasium and then 
went back to Willetts Hall, where he found Ted 
waiting for them. 


158 


OVER THE CLIFF 


44 I knew yon two fellows would be around some 
time this afternoon, ’ ’ Ted announced, 4 4 and I was 
wondering whether you’d like to take a walk up 
the river .’ 9 

Phil nodded. 

4 4 It will suit me,” he answered. 4 4 If we can 
go upstream as far as Millville, I can catch the 
train there and reach home in plenty of time for 
supper. ’ ’ 

4 4 It’s a go then.” Ted arose and stretched his 
six feet of hone and muscle until his upraised 
hands almost touched the ceiling. 44 I really 
shouldn’t do it, because I’ve a class in math; but 
just for once I’m going to do something I want to 
do.” 

Phil smiled. 

44 I hope you don’t always do just what you want 
to,” he said. 4 4 Because you would probably like 
to win that two-twenty next week, and you’re go- 
ing to run against me. ’ ’ 

4 4 So I am.” Ted’s blue eyes twinkled. 4 4 But 
we won’t sever diplomatic relations until the day 
of the race. ’ ’ 

Ted stepped into one of the side rooms, coming 
out a moment later with his hat and gloves. It 
was a glorious day, just cold enough to make one ’s 
blood tingle. The three of them struck off across 
the Kings Campus until they reached the river 
bank, and then set off for Millville, five miles 
away. 

As usual, Ted took the lead, striding out at a 
159 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


pace that would have done credit to a professional 
walker. 

“There’s nothing in the world quite so good as 
plenty of fresh air and a strong pair of lungs,” 
Phil announced, as he almost trotted along after 
Ted. “ But I’ma sprinter and not a long-distance 
man, and if Ted doesn’t let up a bit, you’ll have 
an exhausted guest on your hands.” 

‘ ‘ Ted ’s that way in everything, ’ ’ Dick explained. 
“He puts his head down and goes to it as if his life 
depended on it.” 

Smiling, Ted eased his gait, and they strolled 
along, talking about the coming meet and chiding 
one another over their chances for victory. 

“You put it over us in football, all right,” Phil 
admitted. “But it’ was only on account of that 
human gorilla, Vanderwart. But he can’t get 
loose on the track, can he V ’ 

Ted smiled. 

“You never can tell just what Van’s going to 
do,” he answered. 

“Well, you’ll have one advantage. The meet’s 
going to be held on your field, ’ ’ Phil said. ‘ ‘ But 
we ’re planning to bring our whole college along. ’ ’ 

“Bring them over,” Ted urged. “The more 
the merrier.” 

Phil nodded, just a bit grimly. 

“We’ll bring them, all right.” His glance 
rested on Ted. “How in the world a man your 
size can run in the short distances is a mystery to 
me.” 


160 


OVER THE CLIFF 


It was rather a strange thing. Ted, in spite of 
his unusual size, ran in the sprints, and although 
he hardly ever got more than second in the hun- 
dred-yard dash, the two-twenty seemed to be just 
about his distance, and he had yet to be beaten in 
that event. His best time — twenty-two seconds 
flat — was almost half a second better than Phil 
Patton, who was Hillwood’s mainstay, could do. 
But Phil maintained, half seriously, that he had 
never been pushed and that he could go the route 
in twenty-one and a fraction if he were forced to. 

“Leaving the sprints out of it,” argued Ted, 
“we have you beaten in every track event except 
perhaps the mile and two mile. And unless your 
weight men do lots better than they did against 
Swarthmore, you’re beaten before you start.” 

‘ ‘ Never ! ’ ’ Phil ’s voice had grown suddenly se- 
rious and his eyes flashed. “It’s going to be a 
close meet.” 

“Well, let’s not talk about it.” Ted pointed to 
where the river swept around the bend in a sud- 
den curve. “Isn’t that George Martin out 
there?” 

“Yes,” Dick answered. 

“And he’s smoking, isn’t he?” 

“He sure is.” 

George Martin was a member of the junior class, 
but neither Ted nor Dick had ever had any use for 
him. In fact, they seldom saw him except at 
track practice or during meets, but the little that 
they did see of him led them to believe that he was 
161 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


not at all the kind of fellow they would like to be 
chummy with. And now he was smoking, break- 
ing one of the rules of the track squad. 

Ted, his eyes suddenly somber, turned to the 
Hillwood captain. 

“If Raritan gets beaten next week,” he an- 
nounced, “it will be because of fellows like George 
Martin out there in that boat. He ’s the best high 
jumper we have on the team, and he doesn’t care 
enough about his college to keep in condition.” 

“Doesn’t your coach keep an eye on the men?” 

“No, not that way. We are placed on our 
honor, and each man is responsible to himself. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Has any one spoken to Martin about it ? ” 

“I don’t think so. I had heard that he was 
breaking training, but this is the first time I’ve 
caught him at it. ’ ’ 

“You could tell the coach, couldn’t you?” 

“I could, but I wouldn’t.” 

Ted’s eyes looked fairly into those of the other 
boy ; and in that look Phil saw the kind of man he 
was going to run against. 

“Oh!” he said understandingly. “I see now 
that you couldn ’t. ’ ’ 

But although he saw, perhaps, that Ted was too 
good a man to squeal, he did not know that George 
Martin and Ted were the two logical candidates 
for track captain, and that one word to the coach 
would have put Martin hopelessly out of the race. 

The boys passed around the bend without Mar- 
tin seeing them and came to the bluffs overlooking 
162 


OVER THE CLIFF 


the river. About thirty feet below them the water 
shimmered in the sun ; from the opposite bank the 
land rose in rolling hills which lost themselves 
finally in the haze of distant mountain ridges. It 
was the kind of day which makes one glad he is 
alive, that he has real friends to stand by, real 
work to do, and a college to fight for. 

Everything was so fine that Dick was struck by 
a sudden wish to have Van with them, for he was 
essentially an out-of-doors fellow and would have 
enjoyed that hike to Millville. Ted agreed. 

“Yes, he would have enjoyed it,” he declared, 
in answer to Dick’s remark, “only he has two 
hours of chemistry this afternoon, and because I 
think it’s mighty poor policy for a freshman to cut 
classes, I didn’t mention it to him.” 

They had walked slowly, thinking and caring 
little about the time, and were only halfway to 
Millville when Phil announced that it was almost 
four o’clock. They would have to hurry if he 
was to catch the four-forty train. So with Ted 
in the lead, they increased their pace; and after 
a period of brisk walking and little talking, 
rounded a curve and came to the place where the 
river and railroad met. The single track of the 
branch road followed the bank of the stream al- 
most to the Millville station, and above the track 
the bluff rose almost perpendicularly to a height 
of thirty or forty feet. They hastened along on 
the edge of the undulating hillocks, slipping and 
sliding, and occasionally being forced to use their 
163 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


hands in climbing out of little gullies that seemed 
to infest that portion of the bluff. But once in 
sight of Millville, the path had been graded and 
the gullies filled up. They went along then on the 
even surface of the hill about thirty-five feet above 
the water. The low railroad embankment with its 
single narrow track lay between the bluff and the 
river. 

There seemed to be plenty of time in which to 
catch the train, which would have to pass them to 
reach Millville, so when they were still about a 
quarter of a mile from the station Phil suggested 
that they stop and rest. 

“We’ll wait here until twenty-five minutes to 
five,” he said, “and then I can run around the 
curve of the bluff and reach the station easily.” 

They sat on the very edge of the cliff, and as 
Dick looked almost directly down upon the rail- 
road tracks, he shuddered involuntarily. He had 
always been afraid of high places ; they made him 
dizzy. Instinctively he moved back a foot or so. 
Ted, who saw his action, grinned. 

‘ 1 W T hat ’s the matter, Dick ? 'Scared f ” he asked. 

Dick admitted that he was, and Ted started to 
chide him. 

“I should think a fellow from the West ought to 
know enough not to be afraid of a little hill like 
this,” he said. “Why, I’ve never claimed to be 
much of a mountain climber, but I know I could 
get down to those tracks without half trying.” 

Dick, who had always been sensitive about his 
164 


OVER THE CLIFF 


aversion to any sort of height, was just a bit irri- 
tated at Ted’s words. 

“It’s all right to talk,” he answered; “but you 
know as well as I do that you never could get down 
there.” 

Ted must have been feeling unusually exuber- 
ant, for if he had taken the time to think he never 
would have done what he did a moment later. But 
evidently he felt that it was up to him to make 
good his boast, and without a word he arose and 
threw off his coat. 

“Just watch me!” he answered. And before 
either of the other two boys could stop him, he 
had seized a bush that hung over the bluff and 
had started his descent. 

Dick was almost paralyzed with fear; from the 
top of the cliff to the track was a sheer drop of 
thirty-five feet, with hardly a crevice to afford a 
decent foothold. He sat there helplessly watch- 
ing, but Phil Patton threw himself face downward 
and called over the edge to Ted. 

‘ ‘ Come back ! ” he said evenly. ‘ ‘ Don ’t be fool- 
ish, man.” 

But Ted was already six feet from the top ; he 
was invisible from the top of the cliff, but Dick 
could hear him laugh confidently and tell Phil that 
it was all right. Dick looked around wildly, think- 
ing that perhaps he could find a rope or something 
to drop down to Ted; but there was nothing in 
sight. About fifty feet away the bluff curved 
sharply, and by standing back from the edge at 
165 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


that point he could watch Ted make his perilous 
way. So he rushed down to the vantage spot and, 
his heart in his mouth, gazed upon his roommate 
with staring eyes. 

Ted made his way slowly, finding footholds in 
seemingly impossible places, making sure of each 
step before he attempted another. There were no 
hushes he could hold to- — only sharp pieces of rock 
that jutted out from the side. Phil was still lean- 
ing over the edge, calling occasional advice. Ted, 
his mind concentrated on the work at hand, said 
never a word. It is probable that he realized 
when it was too late that he had done a foolish 
thing; but it was easier to keep on going down 
than it was to try to climb up again. And so he 
continued to descend, so slowly that it seemed as 
if he were not making any progress at all. 

He reminded Dick vividly of a steeple- jack he 
had once seen climbing down the side of a New 
York skyscraper. That time, though, Dick had 
looked on indifferently; but now, with his best 
friend in danger, he uttered a silent prayer that 
Ted would reach the ground safely. For a time 
it seemed as though his prayer would be answered. 
Then, when Ted was still about twelve feet from 
the ground, a small ledge beneath his right foot 
suddenly gave way. 

Dick does not remember what happened then; 
there is a picture in his mind of Ted grasping des- 
perately at a blank wall, of falling outward and 
downward; and the next thing he knew Ted was 
166 


OVER THE CLIFF 


lying motionless on the railroad bed, one leg hang- 
ing over the near track. And as Dick stood there, 
helpless, panic-stricken, the shrill scream of a lo- 
comotive came to his ears. It was then that he 
remembered that the train was due; and turning 
his eyes to the north, he saw a faint stream of gray 
smoke rising over the hills. In a few minutes the 
train would pass over the spot where Ted lay ; and 
unless he could be gotten off the track, the wheel 
of the first car would sever his leg. Not fifty 
yards above him the tracks curved sharply, shut- 
ting out the sight of him from the engineer. Dick 
realized then that his roommate’s life was in im- 
mediate danger; the men in the engine could not 
see him in time to stop the train, and the only way 
the boys on the cliff could get to him was by fol- 
lowing his route down the cliff. But that was 
impossible; if they attempted it there would be 
two or three bodies on the track instead of one. 

As Dick Arnold stood there, terrified, again the 
whistle of the approaching locomotive sounded. 
But this time it was nearer. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A CHANCE TO PAY BACK 


LTHOUGH he knew that Ted White, his 



roommate and chum, was lying uncon- 


scious on the track below, and that a train 


was approaching, Dick stood frozen to the ground, 
unable to raise a hand for the man for whom he 
would gladly have given his life. Helpless, he 
turned instinctively toward Phil Patton, whom he 
had left leaning over the edge of the bluff at the 
spot where Ted had started his descent. As he 
did so, his eyes opened wide in horror and sur- 
prise, for even as he watched, Phil threw off his 
coat, stepped back ten yards or so from the edge of 
the bluff, and then, taking a short run, leaped far 
out and plunged headforemost over the railroad 
bed and toward the river. 

It seemed as if he hung in the air for the barest 
fraction of a second. The river was fully fifteen 
feet out from the cliff, but it was deep, and Phil 
had the advantage of height in making his dive. 
His body hurled itself far out, straightened in 
mid-air, and then, even as Dick’s heart leaped into 
his throat, his hands cleaved the water in a per- 
fect hit, and he disappeared. 


168 


A CHANCE TO PAY BACK 


Sobbing openly in a mixture of fright and re- 
lief, Dick rushed to the edge of the cliff, forget- 
ting for the time his own aversion to high places. 
Phil’s head came to the surface almost instantly, 
and even as it shot out of the water, Phil turned 
and literally dragged himself the few feet to the 
shore. It was a wonderful dive, a superb exhibi- 
tion of courage ; but just as Phil crawled upon the 
loose stones of the railroad bed, the train, rum- 
bling and snorting, rounded the curve less than 
fifty yards awlay. 

But Phil was on the tracks now, evidently unin- 
jured, and quite alive to Ted’s danger. As the 
brakes of the locomotive ground and clashed, he 
rushed to where Ted was lying, seized him in his 
arms, and lifted him to the side of the track, just 
about thirty seconds before the train, its brakes 
released, shot by. 

With the realization that Ted was saved, that all 
immediate danger was past, Dick Arnold began to 
shake violently. Something caught in his throat, 
a mist swam before his eyes, and he sank back 
upon the ground, covering his face with his hands 
and sobbing hysterically. After a minute or two 
he pulled himself together, however, and crawled 
to the edge of the cliff to see what Phil was doing. 

What he saw caused his heart to leap with joy. 
He had evidently scooped up some river water in 
his hands and had thrown it on Ted, for when Dick 
looked, Ted was sitting up, a rather dazed expres- 
sion on his face, and Phil was rubbing his wrists 
169 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


and talking to him. At that moment Dick wanted 
to be down there with them as much as he had 
ever wanted anything, but to climb over the cliff 
was impossible, and the only thing for him to do 
was to run into Millville and then return by way 
of the railroad tracks. 

He made the trip in what must have been rec- 
ord time, but when he was halfway back, Ted and 
Phil met him. Phil was soaking wet, and Ted had 
a lump the size of an egg on the side of his head, 
but beyond those trifling damages, neither of them 
was any the worse for the adventure. No one said 
a word for five minutes or more ; just walked along, 
with Ted leaning on PhiPs and Dick’s shoulders, 
and trying to appear as if nothing had hap- 
pened. 

They reached Millville finally and managed to 
find a closed taxi which deposited them in front of 
Willetts Hall within half an hour. They took Ted 
up to the room and tried to make him lie down, 
but he spurned all their efforts to treat him as an 
invalid. 

He insisted on helping Phil get his wet things 
off, and then the pair of them went down the hall 
to the shower. After they had left the room, Dick 
flopped down on the nearest chair, feeling as if he 
had fallen clean through the bottom of the world. 
The realization that he had played anything but a 
hero’s part came to him with startling suddenness, 
and it was all the harder to bear because of the 
fact that his chum had been in danger and he had 
170 


A CHANCE TO PAY BACK 


failed to lift a hand to help him. If it had not 
been for Phil, Ted would have been killed. 

Dick kicked the chair aside and tramped up and 
down the room, looking the facts squarely in the 
face and trying to convince himself that he was 
not a coward. He felt that he could never again 
look Ted in the eyes, that the memory of that af- 
ternoon would always rise up like a shadow be- 
tween them. The thought of losing Ted’s regard 
was almost more than he could bear; but some- 
thing told him that Ted would understand, would 
know that circumstances had so shaped themselves 
that he had been left helpless. Dick never had 
been accused of cowardice before, even by himself, 
and the revelation of his weakness left him 
stunned. 

Suddenly he heard Ted and Phil coming back 
to the room. With a supreme effort he pulled 
himself together. But just before they reached 
the door he made a sacred vow that if ever the 
opportunity should present itself, he would make 
things up to Ted. For Dick realized suddenly 
that Ted meant more to him than any one else ex- 
cept, perhaps, his father, who was the only rela- 
tive he had. 

They managed to rig Phil out in some clothes of 
Dick’s which fitted him fairly well, and then the 
three of them went down to the training table to- 
gether. But before they went, Phil exacted a 
promise from both of the others that they would 
say nothing about the events of the afternoon. 

171 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“It wasn’t anything for me to do,” he said. 
“I’ve been doing high dives all my life, and that 
was only an ordinary day’s work. Besides, it’s 
not in my line to pose as a hero.” 

Of course Dick and Ted consented not to say 
anything about it, so all through the meal they 
talked with the other members of the team as if 
nothing had happened ; and when supper was fin- 
ished, several of the members of the team came 
over to Phil to hear his opinion of the coming 
meet. George Martin was there, and probably 
would have gone out without a word to any one, 
but some perverse streak in Dick made him stop 
the other boy and present him to Phil. 

The Hillwood captain shook hands heartily 
enough, but there was the hint of a twinkle in his 
eye and his voice was just a little too pleasant. 

“I think I saw you this afternoon,” he said with 
apparent innocence. “I was walking up the river 
with White and Arnold, and you were drifting 
downstream in a boat. ’ ’ 

Martin shot a quick glance at him, but Phil’s 
face was expressionless, and Ted’s rival for the 
captaincy made some muttered reply and left the 
room. 

Ted led the way back to his room a short time 
later, where they looked up the time-tables and 
found that Phil could get home on the eight o’clock 
train out of Raritan. If he lost no time, he could 
make it. Dick offered to walk to the station with 
him. Ted had a headache and the others insisted 
172 


A CHANCE TO PAY BACK 


that he go to bed, and after a feeble protest he con- 
sented. Bnt just before Phil was ready to leave, 
Ted came out of his dressing room. 

“I don’t suppose that there is anything I can 
say,” he began, looking fairly into the other boy’s 
eyes , 4 4 but I want you to know that I am everlast- 
ingly in your debt. And if at any time I can do 
anything for you, I’m going to pay you back.” 

Phil laughed rather embarrassedly and grew red 
around the collar. 

4 4 It wasn ’t anything, ’ ’ he answered. 4 4 Any one 
else would have done the same thing if they had 
happened to know* as much about diving as I do. ’ ’ 

But Ted shook his head and held out his hand 
suddenly. Phil gripped it, and for a moment each 
searched the eyes of the other. Then Ted slowly 
tightened his grip. 

4 4 Thanks!” he said simply. 

Without another word he turiied and entered 
his bedroom, but Dick knew that Phil had gained 
a friend who would stick by him through thick 
and thin. Phil evidently sensed something of it, 
too, for he was quiet during the first part of the 
walk; but after a while the conversation turned to 
the coming track meet, and Phil explained a new 
plan that had just been instituted at Hillwood. 

4 4 We’ve joined the Intercollegiate Association,” 
he said, 4 4 and from now on we’re to have entries in 
the national championships. So the college is go- 
ing to send the winner of each event to Boston to 
take part in the Intercollegiates. ’ ’ 

173 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


Dick told him that it was a mighty good idea, 
and that he wished Raritan would do the same 
thing, but Phil was evidently thinking of some- 
thing else, for he was silent for quite a while. 
Finally he spoke, somewhat irrelevantly, it 
seemed. 

“Pm engaged to a girl who lives in Boston,’ ’ he 
said simply. “It hasn’t been formally announced 
yet. This is different from most engagements; 
we’ve been brought up together. But neither of 
us have any money, so we’re waiting and saving.” 

“I see.” 

“And if I win my race next week,” he contin- 
ued, as if talking to himself, “it means that I can 
see her for the first time since Christmas.” 

“Why in the world haven’t you gone to Bos- 
ton before this?” Dick asked impulsively. 

“Both of us decided that I couldn’t afford it,” 
he answered. “But if I go to the Intercollegiates 
the college will pay my way. ’ ’ 

“Oh!” 

Dick wondered vaguely why in the world he was 
telling him that, and perhaps the same thing oc- 
curred to the other boy, for he changed the sub- 
ject at once and they talked track again until the 
train came in and Dick saw him safely on the way 
to Hillwood. Each of them promised to send the 
other’s clothes back as soon as possible. 

When Phil had gone Dick roamed around town 
for almost an hour. Somehow he rather dreaded 
meeting Ted that night ; he was fearful of glimps- 
174 


A CHANCE TO PAY BACK 


ing the look of pity that he thought would be in 
his roommate’s eyes. Dick had hoped that Ted 
would be in bed when he reached the room, but he 
was sitting at his desk puzzling over some num- 
bers he had written. 

44 Where under the sun have you been?” he 
asked. “I’ve been waiting for you for an hour. ” 

“You ought to be in bed,” Dick answered. 
“What’s the matter?” 

“Nothing. I was just figuring out our chances 
in the meet with Hillwood. ” 

Dick went into his bedroom for a minute or 
two, took off his coat and vest, and donned a dress- 
ing robe. This was as good a time as any to tell 
Ted just what a coward he had been, he decided. 
He’d feel better to get it off his mind. When he 
returned to the study, Ted was still figuring, and 
Dick stood for a moment uncertainly by the door. 

4 4 Ted I ” he said finally. 

The other boy looked up questioningly, but the 
expression on Dick’s face must have told him that 
the moment was a serious one, for he dropped his 
pencil and turned around so that he looked 
squarely at his roommate. 

4 4 What ’s your trouble ? ” he asked gruffly. 

44 1 suppose you know,” Dick began, 4 4 that I was 
pretty much of a coward this afternoon. When 
you lay there helpless on the track, I didn’t do a 
single thing except lose my head and cry like some 
two-year-old kid. ’ ’ 

“Nonsense!” Ted interrupted. 

175 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


But Dick refused to be put off. 

“I’m just afraid to be up high,” he continued. 
“It makes me dizzy and I lose control of myself. 
But that isn’t an excuse. I lost my nerve com- 
pletely to-day, and I’m afraid, too, that I’ve lost 
your respect, which is ten times more important 
to me.” 

“Nonsense!” Ted arose this time, determined 
to have his say. “There isn’t a nervier man in 
college, and you know it,” he announced. “You’ve 
proved it on the football field time and time again. 
It isn’t your fault that height makes you dizzy; 
it’s just something that was born in you, and all 
the courage in the world won’t do you any good 
when you ’re placed in such a position as you were 
this afternoon. And as for losing my respect 
for you, I have a lot more right now than I ever 
had.” 

“Thanks, Ted!” Something caught in Dick’s 
throat and prevented his saying anything for a 
minute or two. Ted had turned to his desk and 
finally Dick walked over to him and placed a hand 
on his shoulder. “Sometime I’m going to make 
up to you for failing you this afternoon,” he said 
simply. 

Ted only nodded shortly, but Dick could see that 
his words meant a good deal to him. 

“Let’s go over this together,” he suggested. 
“As far as I can see, we will win this meet by 
about twelve points.” 

“Yes,” Dick answered, looking over his figures, 
176 


A CHANCE TO PAY BACK 


* i that ’s about bow I figured it. But did you bear 
what Hillwood is going to do?” 

“No.” 

“She’s going to send the winner of each event 
up to Boston to enter the Intercollegiates. ” 

“Hm!” Ted looked thoughtful. “That’s a 
mighty nice trip, isn’t it?” 

“It sure is. And you’d better watch out for 
Phil, too, because he has a special reason for want- 
ing to go up there.” 

Ted glanced up quickly. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“He’s engaged to a girl in Boston and he hasn’t 
seen her since Christmas. He can’t afiford to 
make the trip himself, but if he wins, the college 
will pay his way. ’ ’ 

Ted didn’t answer; he was looking off into the 
distance, a strange light in his eyes. Dick waited 
for a few minutes and then suggested that he had 
better go to bed. But Ted seemed hardly to hear, 
so Dick decided to turn in himself. He went into 
his bedroom to undress. When he came out to say 
good night, Ted had evidently decided something, 
for he was waiting. 

“Dick,” he said, “maybe I’m not doing the 
right thing, but I’ve just about decided to throw 
the college down for a personal reason.” 

“How?” 

“Phil Patton saved my life this afternoon, and 
I told him that if ever I could do anything for him, 
I’d do it. And now I have a chance to pay him 
177 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


back. If I let him win the two-twenty next week, 
he can go to Boston/ ’ 

“And you’re going to do it ?” 

“Yes, I think so.” Ted turned to the numbers 
that he had written on the sheet on his desk. 
“Even if I only get second, Raritan will win the 
meet by four points.” 

“But supposing things don’t go as we figure 
them, and the college is in danger of losing. 
What are you going to do then?” 

There was not a more loyal Raritan man in the 
world than Ted, and when he looked up, his eyes 
were troubled. 

“I don’t know,” he said simply. “I don’t 
know.” 


CHAPTER XV; 


RIVAL CANDIDATES 

B V the next afternoon Ted was as well as 
ever, and he and Dick went to the field 
together. Both boys had changed their 
allegiance from football to track. As captain of 
the football team, Dick, perhaps, should have pre- 
ferred the gridiron sport, and it did mean a good 
deal to him, but the sport that made the biggest 
appeal was that of field athletics. The football 
season was, of course, wonderful in its way — the 
clash of padded bodies, the thud of the foot against 
the ball, the rasping words of the quarterback, the 
contact of man against man, the tense straining of 
muscles, and the shocking impact of a clean tackle. 
It all came back to him at times ; the eager groups 
of players in the locker room, the bandaging of 
weakened muscles, the feel of rough togs against 
the skin, the winding of endless tape around el- 
bows and hands. It all had its place in his memo- 
ries of college life, especially the late afternoons 
when, driven on by the urge of voluntary effort, 
the team ran through signals ceaselessly, while the 
shadows of evening lengthened and the field was 
immersed in the midst of approaching night. 

179 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

But strong as was the appeal of football, the 
memories of track season at Raritan were to him 
even more precious. He felt that he could never 
forget his first year in college when, through the 
long afternoons, he loafed on the bench near the 
starting line, watching the other fellows as they 
strode around the cinder track, listening eagerly 
to the announcements of the times made, anxious 
to take his turn to see how nearly he could judge 
the pace which the white-haired coach designated. 
There was the atmosphere of ease about it which 
was lacking on the football field. The tension was 
missing; the constant drive that frayed the play- 
ers ’ nerves and left them touchy and irritable, 
was absent. The afternoons were lengthening in- 
stead of growing shorter, there was not the con- 
stant fight against approaching darkness; they 
could delay as long as they wished before taking 
the customary practice spin, and there was always 
someone waiting at the finish with a word of ad- 
vice and encouragement. 

Ted and Dick generally went up to the field to- 
gether, looking forward with eagerness to the aft- 
ernoons of easy comradeship. It was, perhaps, 
the best part of their college course; they were 
always in perfect condition, their eyes were clear, 
and their blood ran free. 

When they reached the field on the afternoon 
after Ted’s fall from the bluff, the coach was wait- 
ing for them. It was Tuesday, the day for light 
work before the midweek Wednesday trials. 

180 


RIVAL CANDIDATES 


There was only some jogging for them to do, and 
they ran around the track together. The Raritan 
field was situated on a hill overlooking the river; 
the back-stretch ran almost parallel to the water. 
Rounding the turn they could catch a glimpse of 
the farm-dotted hills to the west. Dick always 
liked that turn ; it was the spot where he invariably 
made his bid in the quarter-mile race, and time 
after time he had pounded along the cinder track, 
the joy of contest in his heart, the pattering of 
other feet close by. Only a man who is a runner 
himself can understand the joy of a close race, 
with each contestant fighting his heart out for the 
lead and victory. 

After they had finished their trials, there was 
really nothing else for them to do ; but the day was 
warm and the sun at its brightest, so they loitered 
upon the field, watching the baseball team at work, 
and keeping an eager eye on the thirty or more 
track candidates. Percy Vanderwart was there, 
throwing the sixteen-pound shot indifferently, 
towering like a giant even over the weight men. 
The two boys walked over to him, standing by as 
he balanced himself in the chalked circle, and fol- 
lowing the curve of the iron ball as it shot forward 
from his hand. Some freshmen who were out for 
assistant track manager measured the put. 

“Thirty-four feet, five inches,” one of them an- 
nounced. 

Ted shook his head. 

“Van ought to be able to do forty feet without 
181 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


half trying/ ’ he remarked. “He doesn’t seem to 
have any interest in the work. ’ ’ 

The incident was typical of the big freshman; 
he possessed all kinds of ability, but he was lazy 
and, unless aroused by some unusual occurrence, 
only mediocre. He had proved that on the night 
of the flag rush ; he had showed it, too, during the 
football season, when Ted had called him a quitter. 
Van was the best natured fellow in the world, also 
the laziest. 

He saw the two juniors standing by the pit and 
came over to where they were, a smile of fellow- 
ship in his eyes. 

“Pm rank to-day,” he announced cheerfully. 
“I can’t push the pill out over thirty-five feet to 
save my life. ’ ’ 

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Ted 
retorted half seriously. “We may need you to 
win this event to beat Hillwood. ’ ’ 

For a moment Van looked at them question- 
ingly. 

“You’re fooling,” he said. “We’ve got the 
meet cinched by ten points or more.” 

“I don’t know about that, Van; I would work 
hard if I were you. ’ ’ 

“All right; just watch this.” 

He picked up the shot, balanced it as easily in 
his massive hand as if it had been a baseball, and 
pushed it from him with a short, jerky motion. It 
hit the ground barely thirty feet away, and Ted 
shook his head. 


182 


RIVAL CANDIDATES 


i i Your form is all off,” he announced. “You 
don’t hold the shot right and you don’t follow 
through. ’ ’ 

“1 guess I’ll never be any good,” Van answered 
indifferently. “If you hadn’t made me come out 
for the team, I could be doing something worth 
while this nice afternoon.” 

“Nothing’s more worth while than trying to 
help out your college, Van,” Ted answered ear- 
nestly. “Keep at it and get at least one point 
during the season. ’ ’ 

“Well, I’ll keep at it, but it won’t do any good, 
I reckon. ’ ’ 

Van picked up the shot again and continued his 
work. But in spite of Ted’s words, he was just 
as bad as ever, and finally Ted and Dick walked 
down the field to see what Nick Hayfield was doing 
in the pole vault. 

So the afternoon wore away. They were in 
running togs, but the day was so warm that 
heavier clothing was not needed, and already the 
sun had placed a light coat of tan over their necks 
and shoulders. All the members of the team ex- 
cept George Martin seemed to be in perfect con- 
dition. George’s face was white and pasty and 
his lips twitched nervously after each attempt to 
clear the bar in the high-jump trials. 

“He’s smoking too much,” Ted whispered. 
“He’s a mighty good jumper, but he’ll fall down 
some time as sure as fate unless he cuts it out.” 

They followed Martin’s trials curiously, admir- 
183 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

ing his natural grace of movement in spite of 
themselves, and feeling confident that he would 
have little trouble in disposing of his Hillwood 
opponents. He worked for quite a time, and then 
returned to the bench, pulling on his trousers and 
sweater. But he did not go into the gymnasium ; 
instead he called aside Tommy Jenkins, the Rari- 
tan hammer thrower, and talked to him long and 
earnestly. Somehow Dick had the feeling that 
Martin was up to something, so he watched him 
curiously. After a time Tommy nodded his head 
and clapped Martin on the back, and the two of 
them went up to Red Sniffen, the half-miler, and 
began to talk to him. Red listened for a time and 
then moved away suddenly, shaking his head, 
much to the evident displeasure of Martin. 

Dick wondered what in the world was happen- 
ing; Ted was coaching Van again, so he did not 
say anything to him, but Red Sniffen came over 
after a time and asked Dick if he would mind 
taking a jog down the track. Slightly mystified, 
Dick followed him until they reached the far side 
of the field, and then they stopped. 

6 ‘ Something’s going on that Ted White ought to 
know,” Red announced. ‘ ‘ George Martin is out 
for captain of track.” 

“Yes, so I’ve heard. He has a right to be, I 
suppose.” 

“Yes, if he’d go about it fair and square. But 
what he’s doing is soliciting votes. He just asked 
me if I would vote for him.” 

184 


RIVAL CANDIDATES 


That was against all rules of Raritan and Dick 
was surprised. 

“ It’s a pretty mean trick,’ ’ he told Red, “but I 
don’t think he’ll get anywhere with it, do you?” 

“I’m not so sure of that. He’s going to work 
a fraternity deal, I understand.” 

“Oh, so that’s it!” 

Things began to look serious for Ted. There 
were ten fraternities at Raritan, and once in a 
great while several of them banded together and 
gave the votes to all their members on a certain 
team to one man. It was what was called a “fra- 
ternity deal,” and was manifestly unfair. There 
were four of Martin’s fraternity men on the track 
team, and five from the club to which Jenkins be- 
longed. That meant at least nine votes against 
Ted at the very outset. Martin had, of course, 
cultivated the acquaintance of several freshmen on 
the team, and as only twenty-five men had won 
the points that entitled them to vote, it looked very 
much as if Ted would be defeated without being 
given a chance. 

“You tell Ted that I’m going to vote for him, 
anyway,” Red remarked, after a brief silence. 
“And I think that the other fair-minded fellows on 
the team will do the same.” 

“I’ll tell him. It’s mighty good of you to let us 
know about this, Red. ’ ’ 

“Oh, that’s all right! If there’s one thing in 
this world that I hate, it’s a fellow trying to get 
something by underhand means. ’ ’ 

185 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


Dick didn’t say anything to his chum until after 
dinner, when they were alone in their room. 

“Ted,” he asked, “have you heard the latest 
about George Martin?” 

“No; what is it?” 

“He’s trying to solicit votes for track captain.” 

Ted smiled grimly. 

“That’s about what I expected of him,” he an- 
swered. 

“Yes, but he’s doing more than that; he’s going 
to run a fraternity deal.” 

“With what crowd?” 

“With Tommy Jenkins’ bunch. That means 
that he has nine votes already.” 

“Hm!” Ted’s lips shut ominously. “Well, 
there ’s nothing we can do about it, ’ ’ he said finally. 

Dick had thought of one thing they could do, 
but he hesitated to suggest it. Ted did not be- 
long to a fraternity ; but two years ago Dick had 
joined the Alpha Alphas, and was, of course, still 
a member. He knew that a word from him would 
throw their votes to Ted and that they probably 
could persuade one or two of the other clubs to 
follow their lead. But Ted had rather strong 
opinions about some things, and probably would 
refuse whatever aid his roommate could give him. 
Nevertheless, Dick decided to make the attempt. 

“I’m pretty sure that I could get the Alpha men 
to vote for you,” he announced, “and the Delts 
would probably be willing to follow suit, if we 
spoke to them about it. ’ ’ 

186 


RIVAL CANDIDATES 


Ted shook his head. 

“No,” he answered, “if I can’t get the cap- 
taincy fairly and squarely, I don’t want it.” 

The other boy attempted to convince him that 
he was wrong. 

“It’s only fighting fire with fire,” he argued. 
“If George Martin is going to run a deal, you have 
every right to run one, too.” 

“Two wrongs don’t make a right, Dick. The 
other fellow can do what he wants, but I’m going 
to play the game according to rules.” 

He was right, of course, and Dick did not press 
the point farther, but it seemed wrong somehow 
that Ted was going to be robbed of something that 
was rightfully his, just because another man was 
less square than he was. Leaving his own friend- 
ship with Ted out of it, Dick knew that Ted would 
make a better captain than Martin. He was a 
natural leader; he was better informed about ath- 
letics than Martin; and, generally speaking, it is 
always better to have a track man for captain than 
one who works in the field events. Then, too, Ted 
was square ; he had lived up to the rules, and Mar- 
tin had not. 

“Let’s dope things out and see where we 
stand,” Dick suggested. “Maybe Martin’s deal 
won’t do him any good, after all.” 

They got out a pencil and paper and jotted down 
the members of the team, checking each man who 
they thought could be counted upon to vote for 
Ted. There were twenty-five point winners on the 
187 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


team, and the paper showed that, outside of the 
nine fraternity men, at least three others could 
easily be counted as supporters of Martin. Seven 
of the men they felt sure would support Ted, but 
that left the count twelve to seven, with six votes 
on the doubtful list. 

“I guess it’s all up,” Ted announced, smiling 
rather wryly. “If a single one of those doubtful 
men votes for Martin, he’ll win the election.” 

“You might speak to them and let them know 
that Martin is running a deal,” Dick suggested. 
“Raritan men are not the kind to stand for that 
sort of thing. ’ ’ 

“Maybe he’ll change if he gets the captaincy.” 
Ted swung around in his swivel chair. “Do you 
know, Dick,” he said, “that somehow or other I 
don’t think George Martin is such a bad fellow, 
after all. Maybe the captaincy’s the very thing 
to pull him together. Responsibility usually has 
that effect.” 

“Well, he won’t get it if I can help it; you may 
be sure of that.” 

Dick knew how much Ted wanted to be captain 
of the track team; and he knew, too, that he was 
the man who deserved the place. It occurred to 
Dick that here was a chance to pay his chum back 
somewhat for what had happened on the cliff the 
day before, and he would have given almost any- 
thing to be able to go to Ted and tell him that his 
election was quite assured. But, of course, an- 
other fraternity deal was out of the question, and 
188 


RIVAL CANDIDATES 


for the life of him Dick could not think of a single 
way he could help. 

“I guess it will all depend on the way the meet 
goes,” he said finally. “If you should win your 
race in record time, the six votes on the doubtful 
list will probably swing to you.” 

Ted smiled. 

“Perhaps they would, Dick,” he answered. 
“But Pm running that race against Phil Patton, 
and what he did for me means a good deal more 
than the captaincy. If it hadn’t been for him, I 
wouldn’t be here to run any kind of race.” 

Dick hadn’t thought of that before. If Ted de- 
cided to let Phil win the race, it meant, even if the 
meet went to Raritan, that George Martin would 
undoubtedly be elected captain. So there they 
were — the captaincy, Phil Patton, and the college 
all mixed up in one big tangle. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A VISIT 

T HE next afternoon they went up to the 
track as usual, but it was a bad day and 
they hurried through their work. The 
sky was covered with heavy clouds, a thin drizzle 
almost hid the far side of the field and pierced 
even their heavy sweaters and long woolen run- 
ning trousers. The baseball team was practicing 
in the cage and the field was deserted except for 
the handful of track men who kept loyally to their 
daily practice. It was the day for the mid-week 
trials, but Coach Dodge refused to let any of the 
men exert themselves because of the danger of 
pulling tendons, so they simply jogged around the 
track and then went back to the gym for a rubdown 
and hot bath. The members of the baseball team 
had finished their work and were splashing around 
in the swimming pool, but the track candidates had 
been forbidden to go into the tank during the sea- 
son and were forced to be satisfied with a warm 
shower. The coach was a good one and was also 
something of a trainer, and it was seldom that a 
Raritan man was kept out of a meet because of 
injuries. It is surprising how few track men 
190 


A VISIT 


know that a cold plunge after practice tends to 
harden the muscles and make them unfit for the 
strain of a race. 

It was early when Dick and Ted finished their 
stint, so they went back to their room to get in 
some studying before supper. Neither of them 
had said a word about the track captaincy since 
the night before, but Dick could see Ted was wor- 
rying over his problem, and it bothered him also. 
It would be a strange ending to it all if Ted wor- 
ried so much about it as to get out of condition for 
the race with Phil. It would be, in a way, a solu- 
tion of the tangle, but it would hurt Ted a good 
deal in the election for captain, and it would, more- 
over, rob him of the satisfaction of doing some- 
thing big for the man who had done even a bigger 
thing for him. And it would, too, leave Dick out 
of it ; take away whatever chance he had of making 
up to Ted for his failure of Monday afternoon. 

Neither of the two boys was doing much study- 
ing, although they made believe that they were, 
when a knock sounded on the door and A1 
Thorpe entered. A1 was the best two-miler on the 
team, and was a member of Tommy Jenkins ’ fra- 
ternity. They were frankly surprised to see him, 
but they greeted him pleasantly enough and told 
him to make himself at home. 

“I’m only going to stay a second,’ ’ he explained. 
“ Just dropped in for a word with you before sup- 
per about the track captaincy.” 

‘ ‘ Oh ! ” Ted glanced at him questioningly. 

191 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“I understand that Tom Jenkins and Martin 
have crooked up some sort of a deal in which 
Tommy has pledged the votes of our fraternity 
for Martin, ’ ’ Al continued. ‘ ‘ I suppose you know 
about it.” 

“We’ve heard something like that,” Ted an- 
swered. 

“Well, I wanted to tell you that I have refused 
to be a party to such an agreement; I think that 
Ted deserves the captaincy, and I’m going to vote 
for him. Moreover, Tom Atwater is backing me 
up, and we ’re both going to support Ted. ’ ’ 

“Thank you, Al!” Ted arose and held out his 
hand. “It’s mighty good of you to come here 
and tell me that, and I appreciate it. The cap- 
taincy means a lot to me, of course, but I’m per- 
fectly willing to give it up if the fellows don’t want 
to elect me. Only I’d hate to be beaten in a way 
which wasn’t square.” 

“It’s a mean trick,” Al answered, taking Ted’s 
hand, “and you can be sure that a good many 
of the fellows will have something to say about 
it.” 

Al only stayed a minute or two after that, and 
when he had gone Ted turned to Dick with some- 
thing like hope in his eyes. 

“It doesn’t always pay to try to pull of f a raw 
deal at Raritan,” he announced. “The fellows 
here are, all in all, a pretty decent bunch. ’ ’ 

“It surely does look better for you,” Dick an- 
swered. ‘ 4 That makes the count ten to nine, with 
192 


A VISIT 


six men unaccounted for. And I’d be willing to 
bet my hat that most of those six fellows will vote 
for you.” 

But Ted shook his head. 

‘ ‘ They might if I won my race. But if I lose it, 
they’ll probably turn to Martin. Everybody likes 
a winner, you know. ’ ’ 

“Have you really decided to let Phil win?” 

“I don’t know whether I have or not. If it was 
only the question of the captaincy, I’d give it up 
in a minute so that Phil could go to Boston. But 
there ’s always the college to consider ; that coiqes 
first, and anything that has to do with me person- 
ally must be sacrificed for Raritan.” 

“When do you think you’ll decide?” 

“Not until after the meet is well under way, I 
guess. The two-twenty comes fourth from the 
last and we ’ll know pretty well then whether Rari- 
tan can win without me or not. ’ 9 

“Well, if I were you, I’d stop worrying about 
it and let things slide until then.” 

Ted promised that he would, and they went 
downstairs to the training table, where, as usual, 
the talk was all about time, distance, and height. 
Both boys had some studying to do, so they re- 
turned directly to their rooms, but they had hardly 
started work when another knock sounded on the 
door and they had a second visitor. But this one 
was George Martin. 

They could not imagine why in the world he 
would want to see them of all people, but they told 
193 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


him to take a chair and waited to hear what he 
had to say. It wasn ’t exactly the way they would 
have greeted their favorite uncle, and Martin evi- 
dently resented their lack of cordiality, for he 
flushed deeply and did not seem to know exactly 
how to begin. 

“I just came around to talk about track, ’ ’ he 
said finally. “What do you think of our chances 
of beating Hailwood?” 

“Pretty good, I should say,” Dick answered. 
“We seem to have the edge on them by about ten 
points.” 

“That’s about what I figured. We’re fairly 
sure to come out ahead.” 

“Yes.” Ted was non-committal; he sat lean- 
ing back in his chair, regarding the visitor with 
half-closed eyes, and Martin evidently felt that 
something was expected of him. 

“I’m rather anxious to see Ted alone, ’ ’ he said, 
after a brief pause. 

Dick arose. 

“Surely. I’ll drop across the hall and visit 
Van.” 

“Wait a minute.” Ted held up his hand. 
“Unless the matter is a very personal one, I’d 
rather have Dick stay here. ’ ’ 

‘ 1 Oh, all right. ’ ’ Martin ’s tone was slightly de- 
fiant. “It doesn’t matter much one way or the 
other.” 

“Dick will stay then. What do you want to 
see me about?” 


194 


A VISIT 


“ About the captaincy. You’re going to run, 
aren’t you?” 

“I suppose so. I’m one of the three Juniors 
on the team, and in line for it.” 

Martin smiled. 

“And I’m one of the other Juniors, so we’re 
rivals. ’ ’ 

“Yes, I imagine so.” 

Ted was making it rather hard for the other 
boy. There were grim lines about his mouth and 
his tone was anything but inviting. For a mo- 
ment Martin hesitated, as if debating whether to 
go on with it or not, but he was courageous enough 
in his way, and his lips came together with sud- 
den resolution. 

“I’m very anxious to be track captain,” he 
stated. “It means more to me than it does to you, 
and I’m wondering if we can’t compromise some- 
how or other.” 

“What do you mean by compromise?” 

“One of us drop out and leave the field clear for 
the other. ’ ’ 

Ted chuckled. 

“If you want to withdraw you’re perfectly 
welcome to do so,” he said. “But I’m going to 
stick. ’ ’ 

“Is that final?” 

“It surely is.” 

“All right, then; look at this.” 

The visitor drew a paper from his inside pocket 
and handed it over to Ted. 

195 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

“I’ve got the election all worked out,” he an- 
nounced, “and am perfectly sure of fifteen votes. 
You don’t stand a chance in the world.” 

“If that’s the case, why are you asking me to 
drop out?” 

Martin flushed. 

“I just want it to be arranged without the sem- 
blance of a doubt.” 

“I see.” Ted examined the list Martin had 
prepared. 

“What makes you sure that all these men are 
going to vote for you?” 

“I just know they are.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because they’ve told me so.” 

‘ ‘ I see. Y ou ’ve been asking for votes, then ? ’ ’ 

There was something in the way Ted spoke that 
evidently riled Martin, for he lost something of 
his pleasant manner and spoke irritably. 

“Yes,” he answered, “if you want to know, I’ve 
been asking for votes.” 

“Do you think that’s quite square?” 

“It may not be the usual custom here in college, 
but there ’s nothing wrong about it. In every kind 
of election outside of Raritan, candidates solicit 
votes. That’s what political meetings are for.” 

“Yes, but this is different. It’s considered bad 
etiquette.” 

“Hang the etiquette! I’m out for track cap- 
tain, and I’m going to get it.” 

Ted’s teeth clicked. 


196 


A VISIT 


4 * Maybe you are,” he said, “but not if I can 
help it.” 

“Don’t you see you haven’t a chance?” Martin 
was fast losing control of himself. 

Ted glanced again at the paper. 

“I see you have Thorpe and Atwater down in 
your column,” he remarked. “I happen to know 
that they’re not going to vote for you.” 

Martin smiled. 

“You’re off your balance, old man,” he retorted. 
“Tommy Jenkins is looking out for them.” 

“What’s he got to do with it?” 

Martin’s eyes blazed defiantly. 

“He’s promised me the votes of his fraternity.” 

“Oh! So you’re bringing the fraternities into 
this?” 

“Yes, I am, and I’ve got enough votes through 
them to elect me. ’ ’ 

“Well, that’s what I call a dirty trick.” Ted 
arose. ‘ ‘ If you ’re sure of election, there ’s no need 
of us talking any more about it. But let me tell 
you something; A1 Thorpe and Tom Atwater are 
going to give their votes to me.” 

Martin looked up doubtfully. 

“What makes you think so?” 

“Because they refuse to be a party to your dirty 
deals ; they were in here to-night to tell me so. ’ ’ 

The news was evidently a surprise to Martin, 
for a slight tinge of red crept over his face and 
his lips curled unpleasantly. 

“That won’t make the least difference,” he 
197 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


announced, “ because you’re going to with- 
draw. ’ ’ 

“lam! Why!” 

“Because you’re a professional athlete, and un- 
less you drop out of the race for captain, I’ll 
write to Hillwood and tell them about it. Then 
they’ll protest and you won’t be able to run at all.” 

Ted glanced at Dick. Martin was not one of 
the men who had been told the real reason of 
Ted’s giving up football; but he had evidently 
learned it indirectly. 

“I suppose you’re thinking of Ted’s football 
coaching,” Dick put in. 

“Yes.” 

“But that’s all been settled. The President of 
the college has ruled that Ted has a right to repre- 
sent us on track.” 

“Yes, but the President isn’t Hillwood.” 

“But he wrote to them before making his de- 
cision.” 

Martin was a little taken back for a moment, but 
he recovered himself quickly. 

“That’s all right to say,” he countered. “But 
you’ll have to tell me something easier than that 
before I’ll believe it.” 

Ted grew red under his collar. 

“If you don’t believe us, go ask Prexy,” he sug- 
gested. 

But Martin only smiled. 

“Even if it is so,” he answered, “I bet that the 
Hillwood track team doesn’t know it.” 

198 


A VISIT 


“And you think that if they hear about it, 
they *11 protest?” 

“They sure will. You know that as well as I 
do. They’re out to win.” 

There was something in what Martin said ; there 
was a real possibility that the Hillwood team, 
sensing victory in Ted’s disqualification, would 
protest. Martin, seizing his advantage, grinned 
triumphantly. 

“And unless you withdraw,” he finished, “111 
put the facts before the Hillwood manager.” 

“When?” 

“Two days before the meet; and then , even 
though you are found to be all right later, they 11 
protest according to custom and you 11 be kept out 
of the race.” 

He was right; both Ted and Hick knew that if 
Martin cared to use the information he had some- 
how collected, it would probably mean that Ted 
would not be permitted to run and that he would 
lose whatever chance he had to be elected captain. 
Even if Hillwood decided to give him a clean slate 
later, he was out of it as far as the election was 
concerned. 

Ted knew that his chance to participate in the 
meet was probably gone, but from the look on his 
face one would imagine that it did not bother him 
at all. 

“I suppose that nothing can make you alter 
your decision, ’ ’ he said to Martin. 4 ‘ But have you 
thought what it might mean to the college?” 

199 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


1 ‘Yes, but you know as well as I do that Rari- 
tan will probably win whether you run or not.” 

i ‘And if I refuse to withdraw as a candidate 
for captain, you ’ll send word to Hillwood ? ’ y 
Martin nodded, a triumphant smirk on his face. 
“Yes,” he answered. “You’ve got me right.” 
Ted walked over to the door and opened it. 
“Well,” he said, looking his rival fairly in the 
eyes, “I refuse to withdraw.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


A CHANCE FOR TED 

O N Saturday, State College came to Rari- 
tan for the last meet before the contest 
with Hillwood. The team really cared 
little whether they won from State or not; the 
meet was in the nature of a final tryout before the 
big test against their greatest rival, and they cared 
more for the time made in certain races than for 
anything else. Each performance was watched 
with an eagerness which typified the spirit of the 
Raritan men; Hillwood was having a meet with 
Highland on the same day, and the men were natu- 
rally intensely interested in comparing the show- 
ing of the two colleges. 

The day was perfect, one of those afternoons 
which brings out the very best a man has in him ; 
and every man on the Raritan team was trained 
to the minute. State arrived in the morning and 
went immediately to lunch, although it was only 
eleven o’clock. In doing this they were following 
one of the basic rules of track athletics. A man 
should eat at least three hours before a race, and 
the meal should be a light one. The Raritan 
track men were given a poached egg, one glass of 
201 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


milk and two pieces of bread, and after that they 
were instructed to go to their rooms and rest until 
it was time to dress in the gym. The weight men 
were, of course, given heartier food, for they were 
forced to depend upon pure strength to win their 
events, while the runners relied mostly upon a cer- 
tain nervous energy, combined with stamina and 
endurance. 

Practically the whole college was in the stands 
when the first call was given for the one hundred 
yard dash. The baseball team was away, and the 
students were keenly curious to know just what 
chance the track squad was going to have against 
Hillwood. So they massed in the stands singing 
and cheering for the pure joy of the thing and 
practicing the special songs which one of the col- 
lege poets had made up about “ leaving Hillwood 
in the lurch ’ 9 and * ‘ running on to victory . 9 9 

Ted was one of the two Raritan entries in the 
hundred, but he had little hope of getting anything 
better than second place. He was an unusually 
fast man, considering his weight, but he was just a 
trifle slow in starting, and Jim Duncan, the other 
Raritan entry, could beat him in eight starts out of 
nine. And that is what happened ; Ted lost about 
two yards at the crack of the gun, and although he 
pulled up on the field in the last twenty strides, 
he could not quite catch them, finishing only third. 
But Jim breasted the tape a few inches in front of 
Stated best entry and gave the home team the 
jump at the very outset. 

202 


A CHANCE FOR TED 


Almost directly across the field the hammer 
throwers were warming up preparatory to their 
trials, and in front of the main stand, George Mar- 
tin was hopping over the cross-bar, making a good 
deal of unnecessary show about it and drawing an 
occasional encouraging remark from some of his 
friends in the stands. The two mile was the next 
track event, and A1 Thorpe, taking the lead at the 
very start, literally ran away from the field and 
won as he pleased in ten minutes and eight sec- 
onds. Raritan figured he was good for at least 
ten seconds better if pushed, and counted that 
race already won against Hillwood, as their best 
man had never beaten ten-ten in his life. Mean- 
while, State had gained its first victory in the 
hammer throw, although Tom Jenkins managed 
to get second and keep his team in the lead. The 
next track event was the quarter mile, and as 
Dick strode down the track for the preliminary 
warming up, he saw out of the corner of his eye 
that George Martin had just cleared the bar in the 
high jump and that the State entry had failed. 
Just as the last call for the quarter came, the 
announcer bellowed out that Raritan had won 
the high jump and that Martin had tied the 
college record with a leap of five feet ten 
inches. 

A burst of applause greeted this announcement ; 
Martin heard it and nodded self-consciously, and 
then, throwing a long bathrobe over his shoulders, 
made his way nonchalantly to the bench. As he 
203 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


passed across the track where Dick was standing, 
he smiled triumphantly; and in spite of himself, 
Dick knew that his face was flushed. Martin was 
a mighty good jumper; there was no doubt of 
that, and his record-tying performance was going 
to help his candidacy a good deal. 

But there was little time to think of Ted and 
his problem just about then, for the State quarter 
miler was the team captain and was good for at 
least fifty-two seconds. Dick had beaten that time 
once or twice, but it had left him gasping for 
breath at the finish line, and he looked forward 
with a good deal of foreboding to the coming 
ordeal. Even if he won, it meant a brief period of 
more or less misery. 

Carter, of State, drew the pole; and with the 
crack of the gun, he was off like a shot, rounding 
the first turn with a long, even stride, which be- 
tokened a lot of reserve force. Dick followed, 
trying to match him stride for stride, and they 
swept into the backstretch almost as one man. 
And then the Raritan entry made his bid, draw- 
ing even with Carter and putting every ounce of 
strength and speed he possessed into the long 
sprint which would carry one or the other to vic- 
tory. Shoulder to shoulder, they rounded the 
third turn, passed the north stand on even terms, 
and then shot into the home stretch. From that 
point it was simply a question of endurance, and 
Dick must have had just a little more power in his 
wabbling legs, for just about ten yards from the 
204 


A CHANCE FOR TED 


finish the other boy faltered ever so slightly and 
permitted him to break the tape with a yard or 
two advantage. The crowd yelled, of course, as 
they always do when a Raritan man wins, hut Dick 
was just about exhausted and sank down upon 
the bench, his head in his hands. But Coach 
Dodge came up and made him walk around a bit, 
which is the best thing in the world for a runner 
who feels that he is going to be sick. A good many 
men have been known to flop down at the side of 
the track at the conclusion of a race, when if they 
had only kept their courage with them and had 
walked up and down for a minute or two, they 
would have felt infinitely better. 

The time of that quarter mile, fifty and four- 
fifth seconds, was as good as Dick had ever done ; 
but even as the cheer greeted the announcement, 
he knew that he would have to do better than that 
if he were to win on the next Saturday, for Ber- 
gen, of Hillwood, was good for fifty seconds flat 
and would beat him by ten yards. Ted came up 
and put his arms around his chum’s shoulder, 
walking with him to the field house where a splash 
of water on his face made him feel almost as good 
as ever. Running is one of the most thrilling 
sports ever invented for a man who is in good 
condition, but it is a dangerous exercise for a per- 
son who does not keep in shape. If a runner still 
feels the effects of a race a half hour after it has 
been staged, he is not physically fit to run and 
should give it up. That is the reason so many 
205 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


men who were at one time or another track 
athletes are affected later in life by what is 
called an athletic heart. It isn’t the running 
which makes their heart go wrong ; it ’s their own 
stubborn persistence in keeping on with the game 
when they know they’re not fitted for it. 

When Ted and Dick came out of the dressing 
room, Alex Tilston was just clearing the last bar- 
rier in the high hurdle race, but ten minutes 
later Red Sniffin failed miserably in the half mile 
and both State entries swept across the line in 
almost a dead heat. But Raritan was still in the 
lead, and when the announcement came from the 
field that they had broken even in the pole vault 
and broad jump, the victory was practically as- 
sured. 

A few minutes later Ted started across the field 
for the start of the two-twenty yard dash, and 
Dick walked over with him. Ted’s lips were set 
in a straight line and his eyes were flashing in a 
way which the other boy knew meant danger for 
someone. 

“I’m going to try to break the college record,” 
Ted announced, when they had gotten out of hear- 
ing distance of the others. “The track is perfect, 
there’s not a breath of wind, and I’m just about 
right for a whack at it.” 

George Martin’s feat in tying the high jump 
mark had evidently put Ted on his mettle. He 
crouched low at the word from the starter, rose 
tensely at the second command, and was off with 
206 


A CHANCE FOR TED 


the gun for the best start he had ever made. Dick 
knew then that Ted was going to come mighty 
near making good his boast; his pace increased 
with every stride ; he bounded along with a speed 
which left Jim Duncan and the two State entries 
far in the rear, and when he reached the home 
stretch he swept toward the finish line at a pace 
which brought a cry of joy from the Raritan 
rooters. Dick never saw a runner hit the tape 
with as much speed as Ted did in that race; it is 
probable that if he had gone fifty yards further at 
the same rate, he would have broken the inter- 
collegiate record for all intermediate distances; 
but he swept on around the turn, and then came 
walking back slowly, his deep chest rising and fall- 
ing evenly. 

“What’s the time?” he demanded. 

The three timers were gathered in a circle com- 
paring their watches, but finally one of them 
nodded and turned to Ted. 

“Twenty-one and four-fifths,” he announced. 
“You’ve broken the college record.” 

“Good!” Ted nodded happily and went back 
to the bench, refusing to acknowledge the cheers 
which followed the announcement of the new rec- 
ord; but he was tickled to death over it, and the 
team was pleased too. Martin’s accomplishment 
earlier in the afternoon had been overshadowed 
and Ted’s chances for the captaincy had been ma- 
terially increased. But that, of course, depended 
upon whether or not Martin would make good his 
207 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

threat to have Ted’s entry in the Hillwood meet 
protested. 

There were only three events left, the low 
hurdles, the mile, and the shot put; and after 
a brief rest, Ted walked over with Dick to where 
Van and three other young giants were tossing 
the iron ball around. Morrison, who was Rari- 
tan’s one hope, was in good condition and heaved 
the shot for thirty-nine feet and a fraction, which 
was far enough to win. Van did fairly well, get- 
ting thirty-seven feet in one effort, which would 
have brought him second place if he had not 
fouled on the attempt. As it was, he failed miser- 
ably in his final try and Raritan was forced to be 
content with five points instead of eight. But Van 
was encouraged. 

“In another week I’ll be doing forty feet,” he 
told them. ‘ ‘ The trouble with me now is that I 
can’t keep in the circle, but I’ll get over that.” 

Dick hoped that he would; even if he could get 
even a second against Hillwood it would help out 
in the final score and would, moreover, mean an- 
other vote for Ted. The election was still a mat- 
ter of conjecture, for it did not seem possible that 
Martin would advise Hillwood of Ted’s football 
coaching episode. 

Tilston ran away with the low hurdle race, but 
State won the final event in the slow time of four 
minutes and forty-two seconds, which made it look 
bad for Raritan for the next week. Hillwood had 
one miler who was good for four-thirty, and if 
208 


A CHANCE FOR TED 


they could find another man anywhere near as fast, 
they had a splendid chance to clean up in the very 
last race of the day. And that would mean an 
addition of eight points to their score, and a cor- 
responding decrease in Raritan’s. 

But all in all, the meet with State College was 
encouraging. After supper, the team went down- 
town and secured the summaries of the Hillwood 
meet, and then Ted and Dick hurried to their room 
to compare the results. 

They found that Hillwood had won, hut that her 
performances were, as a whole, poorer than Rari- 
tan’s. Taking race for race, it was evident that 
Raritan had the advantage in the track events; 
their time was better in the 2.20, two mile, and both 
hurdles. The time in the hundred yard dash was 
the same, but Jim Duncan had beaten their best 
man last year and there was every reason to be- 
lieve that he could do the same thing again. In 
the quarter, the half and the mile, Hillwood looked 
to be the winner, but in the field events the home 
team had a big advantage, and when they totaled 
up the probable score based on the performances 
of the afternoon, Raritan looked like a winner by 
a count of 55 to 47. 

Dick was elated, but Ted looked dubious. 

“A few points one way or another will change 
the whole aspect of things, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘If I should 
let Phil win the two-twenty, that would make the 
final score only 52 to 50.” 

Dick tried to think of something encouraging to 
209 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

say, but Ted bad expressed the very thought in 
his own mind, and so he remained silent. But 
suddenly it occurred to him that perhaps he could 
help out, after all. Hillwood’s time in the quar- 
ter mile was fifty seconds flat, and Raritan had, 
naturally, conceded them that event; but if Dick 
could win, it would counterbalance Ted’s losing 
the shorter race and would still give Raritan an 
advantage of eight points. It was the opportunity 
that Dick had been waiting for, the big chance 
to pay Ted back for his failure of the preceding 
week. 

“Ted,” he said, and he never meant anything 
more in all his life, “maybe I can help you out. 
We’ve put Hillwood down as first in the four- 
forty, but I’m going to win that race if it’s the last 
thing I ever do, and then we ’ll still have the lead 
and you can pay your debt to Phil.” 

Ted looked up quizzically. 

“Do you think you can beat Bergen’s time?” 
he asked. 

“I don’t know, but if trying will do it, I’ll win 
that race by five yards. ’ ’ 

Ted smiled for the first time that night. 

“I believe you can do it, Dick,” he announced. 
‘ i And — thanks ! ’ ’ 

He went to bed at nine o’clock, but Dick wasn’t 
tired for some reason or other; and after writing 
up the story of the meet for the out-of-town news- 
papers, he wandered across the hall to Van’s room, 
where they talked over the meet again and corn- 
210 


A CHANCE FOR TED 


pared the performances. And as Dick sat talking 
to Van, it occurred to him that the big freshman 
could do his part in solving Ted’s problem; if he 
could only get a place in the shot put, he would 
boost Raritan’s total and would, moreover, get a 
vote in the election for captain. And, of course, 
his vote would be for Ted. 

So Dick told him something of the events of the 
past week; how Phil Patton had probably saved 
Ted’s life; how Ted wanted to pay him back by 
letting him win the two-twenty; and how he could 
help by adding a few extra points to Raritan’s 
score. And then, when Van nodded and said that 
he would do his best, Dick t'old him about George 
Martin and his plans for the captaincy, including 
the fraternity deal and his threat to have Ted dis- 
qualified unless he withdrew. 

As Dick talked, he saw the light of battle creep 
into Van’s eyes; it was the same look which had 
brought disaster to the sophomore class and which 
had caused Raritan to turn a football defeat into 
a victory. For the third time that year, Percy 
Vanderwart had been aroused. 

“Dick,” he said softly, although his deep voice 
rang with determination, “that trick of Martin’s 
is the dirtiest thing I’ve ever heard of. And if I 
have to heave that shot a mile, I’m going to win 
a place so that I can give my vote to Ted. You 
just watch me go.” 

Dick went to bed that night more hopeful than 
he had been for a week. Van had never yet failed 
211 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


them, and he had promised to help out now when 
they needed him most. And Dick knew that if 
once aroused, he was good for forty feet, at least, 
in the shot event. Things began to look better for 
Ted. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


FAIR PLAY 


r OTHING happened for the next four days. 



Every afternoon Ted and Dick went up 


to the field for their daily workout, and 


as the day of the meet approached an atmosphere 
of confidence pervaded the team. Not a man on 
the squad had failed to compare Saturday’s scores, 
and not one of those who made comparisons could 
see anything but a victory for Raritan. As the 
big test neared there was a tenseness about the 
practice which had been lacking earlier in the sea- 
son; the men went at their tasks with a greater 
degree of interest, putting all they possessed into 
the work given them, until the coach’s one worry 
was, not that the team would not be in condition, 
but that they would be trained down too fine. 
There was danger of some of the runners going 
stale, and on Tuesday Mr. Dodge made Ted and 
some of the others take an afternoon off. 

But the weight men were kept at work steadily ; 
with them it was a matter of improving their 
technique, and each man went through the mono- 
tonous round of throwing and putting without a 
;word of complaint. They did well, giving cause 


213 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


for encouragement, but the one outstanding fea- 
ture of the week was the improvement of Percy 
Vanderwart. He hurled the shot with a power 
which would have given him forty-five feet had 
he only known how to conserve his strength; but 
he had been more or less indifferent during the 
greater part of the season, and his form was poor. 
Had he known how to balance and follow through 
as did his partner, Morrison, he would have been 
practically unbeatable; but he depended upon 
sheer physical strength to accomplish his end, and 
a good part of his effort was wasted. But he im- 
proved, nevertheless ; and once, when the iron ball 
left his hand at just the right time, the tape showed 
a distance of forty-two feet, which was more than 
a foot farther than the college record. Dick was 
watching him when he made that put. Morrison 
clapped him -on the back and the freshmen as- 
sistants looked at him with awe, but he only 
nodded his head and tried again. He didn’t ap- 
proach that one record put again during the en- 
tire week, but the others knew that he had it in 
him and hoped that the excitement of actual com- 
petition would bring it out. He developed one 
bad fault, however, which might result disas- 
trously; in spite of himself, he fouled continually, 
and when he watched the chalked circle in order 
to rid himself of this habit, his putts were invari- 
ably shorter. But he only shut his teeth grimly 
and vowed that he would get a place in the Hill- 
wood meet. 


214 


FAIR PLAY 


Meanwhile, the contest for the captaincy drifted 
along, with both Ted and Martin doubtful of the 
result. Ted’s record breaking race had given him 
the edge, however, and if he could repeat against 
Hillwood, his chances were better than ever. 
But there was, of course, the question of Phil 
Patton. Phil had only done twenty-two and four- 
fifths on the preceding Saturday, and everyone 
believed that Ted was at least five yards better 
than he was. If Phil won, there was bound to be 
a reaction on the part of the Baritan team, and it 
would probably be to Ted’s detriment. Of course, 
each candidate was certain of the votes of his per- 
sonal friends, and Martin had the two fraternities 
in back of him ; but the election would hinge on the 
six or seven men who were not bound by promises, 
and they would probably be swung by the way 
Ted and Martin performed in the meet. Looking 
at the thing from an impersonal viewpoint, it 
seemed to Dick that Ted would win if he beat Phil 
Patton, but that he would lose out if he let Phil 
defeat him. And he knew that Ted knew it too, 
although neither of them said a word about it. 

On the day before the meet, they went up to the 
field for the last time. They had long looked for- 
ward to the final afternoon and expected to spend 
the two hours or more just sitting around and talk- 
ing. Only a few were generally permitted to do 
any running, but it was customary to loll around 
on the bench, watching the baseball team practice 
and talking over the events of the season. 

215 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


But Friday dawned bleak and cold ; the sky was 
heavy with the portent of rain, and the coach re- 
fused to let the men stay on the field at all. So 
they went back to the gym for a final rubdown, 
everyone of them more or less worried about the 
weather. They had hoped for a perfect day for 
the meet ; their runners depended upon speed more 
than strength, and a windy or rainy day would 
injure their chances immensely. But there was 
nothing to be done; if the track was going to be 
heavy, they were helpless to change things; and 
so Ted and Dick went back to the room, neither 
of them saying much and both vaguely troubled. 
Ted was the first to voice the thought which pos- 
sessed them both. 

“If Martin has written to Hillwood, we ought 
to hear from them to-day/ ’ he said. 

“I guess his threat was all bluff,” Dick an- 
swered. ‘ ‘ He probably hasn ’t written. ’ 9 

“I didn’t think he’d do it. Somehow or other, 
I can’t help believing that Martin is a pretty de- 
cent sort, after all.” 

“Maybe he is, but he hasn’t shown it yet.” 

Ted relapsed into silence after that ; he was evi- 
dently thinking about Phil Patton and the two- 
twenty yard dash, and Dick was mighty curious 
to know what his decision was going to be. 
Finally he could stand it no longer. 

“What are you going to do about Phil?” he 
asked. 

Ted was silent for a time and Dick thought that 
216 


FAIR PLAY 


he was not going to answer, but finally he turned 
in his chair so that he faced the other boy across 
the room. 

“To tell the truth, Dick,” he said, “I don’t 
know any more about it than I did a week ago. 
If there was only the question of the captaincy, 
I ’d let Phil win in a minute, but, of course, there ’s 
the college to consider. So I guess I’ll have to 
wait until to-morrow and decide just before the 
meet begins.” 

So that was how it stood. Ted was as much un- 
decided about it as ever, and his roommate was 
helpless to advise him. But there was one thing 
Dick could do ; he could win that quarter mile, and 
if Van could get three points or so in the shot 
put, Raritan would be practically certain of the 
meet. And then Ted could do as he wished, for 
Dick knew that he wanted Phil to win. And if 
Dick had been in his place, he decided that he 
would have wanted the same thing. 

They waited around until about five o ’clock, and 
then Ted suggested that they walk downtown and 
get an evening paper. Dick welcomed the sug- 
gestion, so they left the dormitory and were just 
about to cross the campus when they almost 
bumped into Phil Patton. Dick’s heart sank like 
lead ; there was only one reason why Phil should 
be in Raritan and that was the question of Ted’s 
ineligibility. Martin had written to Hillwood, 
after all. 

But Phil greeted them pleasantly enough. 

217 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


‘ ‘ Hello, yon fellows !” he said. “I just thought 
I’d drop around and have supper with you.” 

Ted looked at him keenly and offered his hand, 
and Phil took it without a moment’s hesitation. 
Dick suggested that he walk downtown with them ; 
and after buying their paper, it was six o’clock, 
so they went into the dining hall. The sight of the 
captain of the rival team taking supper at the 
Raritan training table caused a good deal of a stir, 
and Dick saw George Martin glance across at Phil 
rather questioningly. There was a lot of satisfac- 
tion in his face, and any hope that Phil had not 
come to see Ted about the meet was brushed 
away. 

They all tried to be as natural as they could, 
the Raritan men chiding Phil a bit about Hill- 
wood’s chances and Phil answering pleasantly 
enough. But Ted was quiet, entering very little 
into the general conversation and smiling rather 
absently. It was not the prospect of not running 
which bothered him as much as the fact that if he 
didn’t run, he wouldn’t be able to pay back his 
debt to Phil. It was with a good deal of relief 
that Phil and the tw?o 'other boys got up from the 
supper table, and after waiting in the Quad Room 
for a while, listening to the undergraduates sing- 
ing and cheering in preparation for the mor- 
row, the three of them escaped and went up- 
stairs. 

They sat around for a time, neither Ted nor 
Dick saying a word about what was uppermost in 
218 


FAIR PLAY 


their minds, but finally Phil broached the object of 
his visit. 

“I suppose you’re wondering why I came over 
to-night of all nights,” he began. 4 4 But some- 
thing has happened which I think you fellows 
ought to know about.” 

Ted nodded, and Dick’s heart beat just a little 
faster; and Phil, after waiting for them to say 
something, continued. 

4 4 Have you anybody here in Raritan who’s an 
enemy of yours ? ” he asked Ted. 

“Not exactly an enemy,” Ted answered. “But 
there may be one or two fellows who don’t like 
me very much. "Why?” 

“I was just wondering. Think hard and see if 
you can imagine someone who would want to do 
you harm.” 

Ted shook his head, evidently hesitating to ac- 
cuse George Martin without definite proof, but 
Dick was less conscientious about it. 

“There’s a fellow named Martin who is our 
best high jumper,” he answered. “And he and 
Ted are running for track captain.” 

4 4 Ah ! What kind of fellow is he ? ” 

44 A poor boob in my estimation,” Dick began, 
but Ted interrupted him. 

4 4 He’s pretty popular with the team,” he an- 
nounced. 4 4 And he has at least an even chance to 
win out. You met him when you were here last 
week.” 

4 4 Is he square?” 


219 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“Well,” Ted hesitated. “He wants the cap- 
taincy pretty badly and he’s engineering some sort 
of fraternity deal to get it.” 

“How is he going to make out?” 

“It’s a toss-up between him and Ted,” Dick 
answered. 

“And he isn’t sure of it then?” 

“No.” 

“Well, he must be the man.” 

Phil drew an envelope from his pocket and 
pulled out a typewritten sheet of paper. 

“I got this letter this afternoon,” he announced, 
“and I want you to read it.” 

He handed the letter to Ted, and after Ted had 
glanced over it, he gave it to Dick. 

It was addressed Philip Patton, captain of 
the Hillwood track team, and this is what it 
said: 

^ Dear Sir: 

Actuated purely by the spirit of fair play, I am writ- 
ing this letter to you. It concerns a member of the 
Raritan track team who has no right to run in the meet 
on Saturday. 

Ted White, who represents Raritan in the sprints, 
/ did not play football at college during his first two years, 
but he did coach the Lindhurst High School football 
team. This year he went out for the Raritan team and 
made it, but you may remember that he was dropped 
from the squad just before the Hillwood game. That 
was because it was found out that he had received money 
for coaching Lindhurst. He is, therefore, a professional 
220 


FAIR PLAY 


athlete, and the Hillwood track team may protest his 
eligibility and keep him out of the meet. 

If you want proof of these facts, you may ask Ted 
White or his roommate, Dick Arnold, about it; or you 
may write to Mr. Alonzo Caryson, of Lindhurst, who 
will bear out my statement that White received the 
money. 

I trust that you will believe me when I say that this 
letter is actuated only by motives of fair play, and that 
there is nothing personal behind the communication. 

The letter was signed “Fair Play.” 

For perhaps thirty seconds after Dick laid the 
sheet on the desk, there was silence; then Ted 
spoke. 

“It’s true , 9 ’ he said simply. 

Phil looked surprised. 

“I — I didn’t come over to find out whether it 
was true or not, but simply to let you know that 
someone in Raritan is trying to hurt you. Martin 
wrote the letter, I suppose.” 

“Yes,” Dick answered. “He said that he was 
going to.” 

‘ 1 Oh, he threatened, did he ? ” 

They told Phil of Martin’s visit the week before 
and of his threat to have Ted declared ineligible 
if he refused to withdraw as a candidate for cap- 
tain. Phil’s eyes flashed. 

“That’s a mighty underhand way to go about 
things,” he announced. “I should think Raritan 
would be ashamed to have a man like that lead 
the team.” 


221 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


“The fellows don't know anything about it,” 
Ted explained. 

“Why don't you tell them?” 

“I'd rather not.” Ted picked up a paper-cut- 
ter on his desk and fingered it idly. “You might 
just as well know the whole story, Phil,” he said. 
4 1 When I came down to Raritan I didn 't have any 
money and I had to work my way. In freshman 
year there came this chance to coach the high 
school team; they didn't promise me anything for 
it, but the principal of the school knew me per- 
sonally and told me that I wouldn't lose anything 
by it. The team was a good one and had a suc- 
cessful season, and when the last game was fin- 
ished, Mr. James, who is principal of the school, 
told me that the people of the town wanted to show 
their appreciation for the work I had done. Well, 
after a lot of argument, he gave me one hundred 
dollars, making clear that it was a gift and not 
a salary. I needed the money and I took it. I 
can prove that the money was a gift, but of course 
I got it for coaching, and that made a professional 
as far as football w r as concerned.” 

“You went out for the team this year, though, 
didn 't you?” 

“Yes, I didn't think anything about the money, 
but as the season progressed, it came to me that I 
hadn't any right to play, so I dropped out before 
the Hailwood game.” 

“But the letter says you were dropped from 
the squad.” 


222 


FAIR PLAY 


4 ‘It’s a lie. Hardly anyone but Dick and the 
coach knew why I stopped playing.” Ted hesi- 
tated for a moment, then continued. “I was per- 
fectly willing to keep off the track team,” he ex- 
plained, “but I didn’t really consider myself a 
professional in anything but football. I worried 
about it for some time and then I went to the 
President of this college and laid the matter be- 
fore him. He said that I had every right to run ; 
that I wasn’t any more of a professional than he 
was.” 

“Of course you aren’t.” 

Ted looked up suddenly. 

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked. 

“ Do ? Why nothing, of course. I ’m not going 
to pay any attention to the letter. ’ ’ 

“That — that’s mighty good of you, Phil.” 
Ted’s voice was suddenly husky. 

“It’s only fair play,” Phil answered stoutly. 
“If we have to rely upon a technicality to win this 
meet, I’d much rather lose.” He arose and 
looked at his watch. “Well,” he announced, 
“I’m glad to get that off my chest; now I have to 
catch a train.” 

They walked down to the station with him, and 
after they had returned to the room, they sat up 
longer than they should have talking it over. It 
was really a big thing that Phil Patton had done ; 
if he had protested Ted, it would have meant a 
victory for him in the two-twenty and a trip to 
Boston. Ted evidently realized it, too, for just 
223 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


before they started to get undressed, he turned 
to Dick. 

‘ i I simply can ’t beat him after a thing like that, ’ ’ 
he said. 

But still there was the college, and incidentally, 
the captaincy, to consider. 


CHAPTEE XIX 


TED’S DECISION 


HIGH wind that had swept the papers 



from their desks and scattered them 


A JL throughout the room greeted the two 
boys when they awt)ke the next morning, and Ted, 
viewing the wreckage, groaned dismally. 

“ A windy day,” he announced. “That means 
a better chance for Hillwood.” 

He was right; the Baritan runners had been 
built more on the lines of speed than endurance, 
and, especially in the distance races, the wind was 
likely to work havoc with their plans. But there 
was nothing to be done except make the best of a 
bad situation, so they dressed rather slowly and 
got down to breakfast late. Most of the squad 
was there when they arrived and Coach Dodge, 
at the head of the table, looked worried. 

“This wind is going to hurt us in the distance 
races,” he said, “and perhaps Alex will have some 
trouble in the hurdles.” He glanced at Dick. 
“But there’s one ray of hope, anyway,” he com- 
mented. “You’ll have the edge on Bergen in the 
quarter.” 

Dick was glad enough of that, but he would 


225 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


willingly have given up any personal advantage if 
the day could only have been warm. The Raritan 
track was so situated that when the wind blew 
from the west it struck the runners with such 
force on the far turn that it was almost impossi- 
ble to make any fast headway against it. The 
only thing to do was to use brute strength and 
plough ahead, but it was mighty wearing on the 
slim type of runner like Red Sniffen and A1 
Thorpe ; and the heavier, more plodding Hillwood 
entries were undoubtedly better fitted by nature 
than were the Raritan men. The only ray of light 
in the whole outlook was the quarter mile race; 
Ed Bergen, the Hillwood star, was a tall fellow 
about as thin as a lead pipe; and unless condi- 
tions suited him, he was not good for much under 
fifty-one seconds. This meant that with an even 
break of the luck, Dick might outgame him and 
beat him to the tape. But while Dick’s own pros- 
pects for victory had brightened immensely, the 
team was bound to suffer, and that meant that the 
loss of the two-twenty yard dash would be a big 
blow to Raritan. 

Ted realized it perfectly, and all during the 
morning he moped around at his desk, trying to 
read but looking at the same page of his book for 
fifteen minutes at a time. Dick knew that worry- 
ing would do no good, so he suggested a walk 
downtown; and for want of something better to 
do, Ted went along. They were surprised at the 
crowds on the campus. It seemed to them as if, 
220 


TED’S DECISION 


in view of the bad weather, only a few of the 
alumni would be back for the meet; but it was a 
regular football crowd, with automobiles pouring 
into town across the landing bridge, and each train 
bringing in a stream of Raritan rooters. It re- 
minded Dick vividly of that morning before the 
last football game with Hillwood, when, with Ted 
qut of it, Raritan were even more doubtful of vic- 
tory. He mentioned it to Ted, but somehow his 
words gave him scant encouragment. 

4 4 That was different,” he answered. “Before 
the football game I had made my decision and 
had gotten it over with; but now I’m walking 
around like a chicken without any head on, and 
I haven ’t the least idea in the world what I ’m go- 
ing to do.” 

Ted surely was in a dubious frame of mind, it 
was not like him at all, and Dick began to sense 
something of the struggle he had gone through 
during the past two weeks. It was a big question 
he had to decide ; but Dick did not think of any- 
thing he could say to help him out. So the two 
of them sulked through a seemingly endless morn- 
ing until, at eleven o ’clock, they went over to the 
Commons and had lunch. The wind was still 
blowing almost a gale, but the spirits of the other 
members of the team seemed to have revived and 
the conversation at the training table bubbled over 
with optimism. Across the hall, they could see 
the Hillwood squad, who had arrived early and 
were eating in the dormitory. Several of the 
227 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


Raritan runners walked over to their table and 
greeted old acquaintances, joking with one another 
about the various events and trying to appear 
natural. A spirit of good natured, friendly 
rivalry just oozed from everyone, with the ex- 
ception of Ted White and George Martin. Ted 
was pleasant enough, but it was easy to see that 
his mind was far away; and Martin simply sat 
at his place near the foot of the table and never 
said a word to anyone. Once or twice he glanced 
in Ted’s direction; there was a queer light in his 
eyes, and Dick wondered if he could possibly have 
something up his sleeve which he had not yet dis- 
closed. But the meal was finally concluded with- 
out anything out of the ordinary happening, and 
both teams left the room together. Hill- 
wood went at once to the gymnasium, but the 
Raritan men had been instructed to rest for 
two hours before the meet, so Ted and Dick went 
back to their room and waited for two o’clock to 
roll around. At about one-thirty Yan dropped in, 
smiling as usual and looking as if he were going 
to a picnic. 

“Why in the world don’t you fellows cheer 
up?” he remarked, after he had noted the glum 
expressions on their faces. “To see you, you’d 
think that this track meet was the most important 
thing that ever happened. ’ ’ 

Ted smiled in spite of himself. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked. 

“Fine as a fiddle! If I can only keep in the 
228 


TED'S DECISION 


ring, I’ve got a mighty good chance for a first. ” 

‘ * You’d better keep in the ring then, because 
we’re going to need all the firsts we can get.” 

But Van refused to be serious. 

“This sure is a peach of a day,” he announced. 
“I wouldn’t want to be one of the fellows who 
have to buck the wind on the back- stretch. ” 

Dick didn’t want to be one either; but he was, 
just the same, and he looked forward with a good 
deal of misgiving to that quarter mile race. But 
hard as his job promised to be, it could not com- 
pare with that of the men who had to run the 
longer distances; A1 Thorpe, for instance, would 
have to fight his way against that wind for eight 
laps, and Red Sniffin, in the half mile, would be 
forced to round the far turn just twice as often 
as Dick did. It was too bad that the meet had 
not been held the week before when the weather 
was ideal, and Dick was inclined to get irritable 
about it until Van brought him to his senses. 

“What’s the use of crabbing over something 
you can ’t help, ’ ’ he demanded. “You two fellows 
make me sick. ’ ’ 

He looked at his watch and announced that it 
was ten minutes to two, so they gathered up some 
heavy sweaters and cut across the campus to the 
gym. In the dressing room there was the usual 
confusion; the smell of liniment and alcohol, the 
nervous chatter of fellows who tried to make them- 
selves believe that they weren’t nervous, the re- 
assuring words of the coach, and the caustic corn- 
229 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


ments of Jake Bentley, the fat trainer. That last 
half hour before a meet always remained with 
Dick, somehow; there was an atmosphere about 
it that was missing even before a football game* 
There, each fellow is but part of a big machine; 
but in a track meet, it is each man by himself, with 
no one else to share the glory of victory or the 
responsibility for defeat. 

Ted and Dick lingered until the rest of the squad 
had gone, and then they went out together. The 
stands were filled almost to overflowing with a 
crowd that was only surpassed at the final foot- 
ball game of the year ; and as the two boys stepped 
across the track, spiked shoes in hand, they heard 
the Raritan student body singing the Alma Mater 
song. They stood and listened until the music 
ceased, and when the last note died away, Ted 
turned to Dick, a hint of tears in his eyes. 

“That’s the college song of victory,” he said 
softly. “And they’re looking to us to win.” 

He was, of course, thinking about Phil Patton 
and the two-twenty yard dash, but it was a ques- 
tion for Ted alone to decide. He waited for a mo- 
ment, a puzzled light in his eyes, and then walked 
around the evenly rolled track to the Raritan 
bench. Light gray clouds scurried across the sky, 
giving an occasional glimpse of the blue behind 
them. All hint of rain had disappeared, but the 
wind swept across the field from the northwest 
with a force which made the runners shiver even 
behind the sheltered stands, and they knew that 
230 


TED'S DECISION 


on the backstretch each race would be a long one 
and a hard one, with the men fighting desperately 
against the miniature gale. 

The first call for the hundred yard dash was 
given finally and Ted busied himself for a while 
adjusting his running shoes. He stood up at last, 
stretching his heavily muscled legs and looking 
every inch the wonderful athlete he was. Strid- 
ing down the track in his warming up jog, he 
seemed to be in perfect condition, and Dick knew f 
as he watched him that, if he wanted to do it, he 
could beat Phil Patton by ten yards. 

He reached the starting fine of the hundred, 
which was at the other end of the field, and, after 
shaking hands with the two Hiillwood entries 
crouched at the mark, his back to the wind. 
Everybody expected record time in the hundred, 
and they were not disappointed, for when the four 
runners swept across the finish, it was evident 
that the wind had carried them along at a good 
clip. Ted finished third, according to the advance 
“dope,” but Jim Duncan was just nosed out at the 
finish by Hillwood’s fastest man, giving the visi- 
tors the lead at the start and bringing a thunder- 
ous cheer of applause from the Hillwood stands. 

That was a setback that had not been counted 
on, but in the two-mile race A1 Thorpe evened 
things up by winning with thirty yards and more 
to spare. But what a race that was! The men 
started off well enough, but as soon as they met 
the wind on the far turn, one could see it almost 
231 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


push them back. They fought against it desper- 
ately, but it seemed as if they were only crawling 
along; and each time they felt the force of the 
wind, their speed fell away until it was hardly 
more than a walk. A1 had the stoutest heart, how- 
ever ; he set the pace all the way, and on the last 
lap actually sprinted on the backstretch and stag- 
gered home a winner. But he was all in at the 
finish and his teammates had to carry him to the 
fieldhouse. 

Just about that time, the word came from the 
field that Hillwood had won the broad jump, giv- 
ing them the lead again ; and then as the first call 
came for the quarter mile, Dick took a deep breath 
and jogged down the track in front of the grand- 
stand, passing Bergen on the turn and nodding to 
him. When they met again at the starting line, 
Dick could see that the other boy was as nervous 
as a cat; he was worried about the wind and didn’t 
care who knew it, and somehow, his attitude gave 
the Raritan entry a feeling of confidence. He was 
the faster man, but he could not stand punish- 
ment ; and Dick realized that if he was ever going 
to help Ted out, now was the time. It was up 
to him to start off at the fastest clip he was ca- 
pable of, and to keep on going all the way around 
the track, depending on his greater strength to 
win in the final drive. 

At the word from the starter, they both 
crouched low, coming up tensely at the second 
command, and springing from the line with the 
232 


TED'S DECISION 

crack of the gun. Bergen held the pole and kept 
it until the first turn ; and then, throwing caution 
to the winds, Dick sprinted as he had never 
sprinted before and passed him as if he were 
standing still. The Hillwood runner was rather 
surprised by that early burst of speed, for it 
was against all rules for running the quarter; 
but Dick did not give much thought to the mat- 
ter after they once swung into the backstretch. 
The wind struck him with such force that it 
almost rammed the breath down his throat; he 
staggered for a moment and then, recovering, 
bent his head forward and fought along dog- 
gedly. Behind him, he could hear Ed Bergen’s 
feet pattering unevenly against the cinders, 
but gradually they seemed less insistent until 
when he rounded the final turn and swept into 
the homestretch, he could not hear them at all. 
Dick thought that perhaps Bergen had quit, and a 
thrill of exultation swept through him ; but it was 
only for an instant, for he suddenly realized that 
his rival was far from beaten. With the wind at 
his back, helping instead of hindering him, Ber- 
gen had evidently made a last call upon his splen- 
did speed, for when about thirty yards from the 
finish, he drew abreast of the leader. They were 
both wabbling somewhat, staggering down the 
stretch like two drunken men, but Dick’s en- 
durance was the greater, for with less than ten 
yards to go, the Hillwood man suddenly fell back, 
permitting the Raritan entry to break the tape 
233 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

and add another five points to Raritan’s score. 
The time was only fifty-four and a fifth, hut it was 
in reality the fastest quarter Dick had ever run. 

Ted was tickled to death about the victory; he 
half supported his chum to the field house, and 
then grasped his limp hand as if he had been a long 
lost brother. Dick was glad for his sake that the 
race had been won, but nothing at all mattered for 
a while except the ache in his legs and the peculiar 
pains which shot through his lungs. 

But he was all right after fifteen minutes or so, 
and went hack to the bench with Ted, where they 
found out that Alex Tilston had won the high 
hurdles ; George Martin had come out first in the 
high jump; and that Raritan had cleaned up in 
the hammer throw. That gave Raritan a big lead, 
but ten minutes later Red Sniffin staggered home 
a bad third in the half mile, giving both places 
to Hillwood ; and right afterwards the home team 
lost the pole vault by the fraction of an inch. But 
even with these two later reverses, Raritan led 
37 to 35, with only four events remaining. 

Those four events were the two-twenty, the low 
hurdles, the shot put, and the mile; and if Rari- 
tan was going to win, it would be necessary for 
them to get at least fifteen more points. Alex 
Tilston was almost sure to win the hurdles, and 
Morrison was the best man in the shot putt, giv- 
ing them ten points in those two events. Second 
place in the mile and the two-twenty were all that 
were needed to win, and that looked easy. Ted 
234 


TED'S DECISION 


was, of course, sure of a second in the dash, and 
as Hillwood had only entered one man in the mile, 
the visiting team could not possibly get more than 
five points. 

Ted had evidently figured it all out, for when the 
first call came for his race, he motioned to Dick to 
walk across the field with him. The Raritan track 
wasn’t big enough for a two- twenty straightaway, 
and the starting mark was directly across from 
the main stands, so the two boys were practically 
alone un the far turn when Ted voiced his decision. 

“Dick,” he said, infinite relief on his rugged 
face, “Raritan’s got the meet cinched without any 
help from me — and I’m going to let Phil Patton 
win this race.” 


CHAPTER XX 


THE FINAL CHANCE 

R ARITAN never quite decided what was 
the matter with Ted "White in that two- 
twenty yard race with Phil Patton. 
Just a week before, Ted had broken the college 
record in the event and had stamped himself as 
one of the fastest sprinters in the country; and 
even the most enthusiastic Hillwood rooter was 
willing to concede him the victory. Everyone 
knew that the time could not approach that made 
the preceding week, for the runners were forced to 
buck the wind for the first fifty yards; but this 
fact was generally believed to work to Ted’s ad- 
vantage, for he was strong as an ox and had all 
kinds of reserve power. 

But it was evident as soon as the gun cracked 
that something was the matter with Raritan’s star 
entry. Plis start was slow, and instead of picking 
up during the first heart-breaking battle against 
the wind, he actually lost ground and was fully 
five yards behind Phil when they swung out of 
the gale and swept into the long homestretch. 
The Raritan stands rose to a man, expecting Ted 
to close the gap and stride into the lead; but in- 
236 


THE FINAL CHANCE 


stead, Phil Patton, every muscle straining, his 
slim legs working with machinelike precision, held 
his lead until the final ten yards. In that last 
desperate drive to the tape, Ted drew up almost 
on even terms, but he just failed to catch his 
speeding opponent, and Phil hounded across the 
line a winner by inches. 

It was a pretty race, and Ted had made a game 
fight, but the shock of his defeat left the Raritan 
rooters stunned. The students in the stands, 
startled and surprised, sank back into their seats, 
looking at -one another with dismayed eyes, feel- 
ing vaguely that something was wrong, but unable 
to decide just where the trouble lay. But Ted’s 
failure struck the team with even greater force; 
they saw the prospects for victory suddenly grow 
dark, and, nervously excited, they were quick to 
place upon Ted the blame for impending defeat. 
Sitting in the midst of them, Dick could sense 
their disappointment, and the tense lines on a 
score or more faces told him more plainly than 
words that Ted had practically thrown away his 
chances for the captaincy. Even Coach Dodge, 
habitually impassive, permitted a deep frown to 
show between his eyebrows. 

“I don’t understand it,” he said to the man 
next to him. “He must have been trained too 
fine.” 

George Martin, his lips curling unpleasantly, 
sneered openly. 

“He threw the race,” he announced loudly 
237 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


enough for most of them to hear. “He can beat 
Phil Patton by ten yards.” 

Dick would have given a good deal to have gone 
up to Martin and crammed those words down his 
throat, but he knew that the other boy had spoken 
the truth. Ted was almost a whole second better 
than Phil. 

The Hillwood stands were, of course, jubilant. 
They had been almost ready to admit defeat when 
this sudden victory had again placed them in the 
running. The score was a tie, with forty points 
for each team and three events yet to be contested. 
Raritan still had the edge with Tiltson in the low 
hurdles and Morrison in the shot; but Hillwood 
was practically certain of the mile and the luck 
had begun to break her way. The Raritan men 
were noticeably excited, and their nervousness 
communicated itself to Alex Tiltson. A hurdle 
race is uncertain under the best conditions, and 
with the wind blowing almost a gale, Alex could 
easily be thrown out of his stride and lose the 
event. 

There was tension in the stands and on the field 
when the hurdles were being stretched across the 
track. Tiltson was jogging up and down, appar- 
ently confident, but Dick ifoticed that his face was 
pale and that his hands were twitching unnatur- 
ally. At the far end of the field four burly 
weight men were tossing the shot, and Dick won- 
dered vaguely how Van was coming along; but 
there was no time to find out just then, for the 
238 


THE FINAL CHANCE 


hurdlers were grouped around the starting line 
drawing for places. Hillwood won the pole, and 
Terrill, their mainstay, knelt down, digging holes 
for his spikes and testing them in the yielding 
cinders. Tiltson crouched next to him, and the 
other two entries lined up alongside. They 
started, of course, from the two-twenty mark, and 
as they threw off their sweaters and bathrobes, the 
wind swept down the stretch with renewed force, 
ruffling their hair and causing them to catch their 
breaths sharply. At the crack of the gun they 
were off as one man, but Tiltson was over the 
first hurdle just a fraction of a second ahead of 
Terrill, and a thunderous cheer burst from the 
Raritan stands. 

And then something happened. It has not been 
ascertained whether the wind blew the second hur- 
dle over just as Alex reached it, or whether the 
runner’s upraised foot caught on the top cross- 
bar ; but at any rate, Tiltson, leading by two yards, 
caught his spikes in some inexplicable manner in 
the timber and went sprawling upon the track. 
He was up again in an instant, but the others had 
swept by him and were twenty yards away when 
he got into his stride again. He made a game 
fight, cutting down the distance with each suc- 
ceeding hurdle ; but his battle was a hopeless one, 
for Terrill broke the tape a winner by six feet, 
with Olson, Raritan’s entry, in second place. 

To say that the Raritan rooters were shocked 
would be putting it mildly; they were thunder- 
239 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

struck. With only two events remaining, Hill- 
wood led by a score of 45 to 43, and another eight 
points would give them the victory. In other 
words, Raritan would have to win two first places, 
or a first and two seconds to save the meet. 

Dick looked over to where Ted was sitting; for 
much as he himself would feel the sting of defeat, 
just at that moment Ted mattered more than any- 
thing else. Dick knew that Ted would never for- 
give himself for putting his own personal desire 
before the good of the team; and he knew, too, 
that the others would blame Ted for the defeat 
and would make his position doubly hard. Ted 
sat on the bench looking at Alex Tiltson with 
wide-opened eyes in which a sort of horror was 
just beginning to dawn. He didn’t seem to realize 
as yet that Alex had lost; that all his plans had 
been miscarried, and that through his generosity, 
Raritan was facing defeat. But even as Dick 
watched, the realization came to him. His lips 
opened and then shut again; he drew his hand 
through his hair in a motion peculiarly his own 
and, without a word, arose and walked slowly to- 
ward the fieldhouse. Dick started to follow him, 
but as he did so his eyes fell upon the weight men 
engaged in putting the shot down the field. 

And then, a sudden ray of hope came to him. 
Morrison was undoubtedly better than Hillwood’s 
best; Raritan had counted upon him for a first 
place, but had left Percy Yanderwart entirely out 
of the reckoning. If Van could count a second 
240 


THE FINAL CHANCE 


place, it would mean three additional points for 
his team and would pnt Raritan in the lead. With 
eight points in the shot put, they would be ahead, 
50 to 45, and a second place in the mile would give 
them the victory. 

A picture of the big freshman as he won the 
football game with Hillwood almost single handed 
flashed before Dick Arnold. He knew that Van 
had it in him to heave that shot farther than any 
man in the meet ; and it occurred to him that if he 
should tell Van of the team’s predicament, a pre- 
dicament which Ted White had been responsible 
for, Van would once more rise to the occasion and 
do the big thing. Suddenly fearful that the event 
was almost completed, Dick rushed across the field 
to where the weight men were gathered. But be- 
fore he reached the spot, Van had seized the iron 
ball and was carefully balanced for his put. 
Dick stopped dead in his tracks, hoping against 
hope that it was not his final try, that the big 
freshman would be given at least one more chance. 
Van’s arm shot forward and his body stood poised 
at the edge of the circle, but Dick could see from 
where he was that the put had been a poor one. 
As the measurers bent down to gauge the distance, 
he rushed up to Van and touched him on the 
shoulder. 

“Was that your last put?” he asked him 
breathlessly. 

Van shook his head. 

“No,” he answered. “I have one more try.” 

241 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

Dick breathed a sigh of relief. There was still 
hope. 

‘ * How are you making out ? ’ ’ he demanded. 

“Rotten. The best I have done is thirty-four 
feet.” 

“Who’s ahead?” 

“Morrison has thirty-eight, six; and Haywood 
has thirty- s even. ” 

“Well, it’s up to you to get second.” 

Van glanced up curiously, but Dick was neve? 
more serious in his life; and the big freshman, 
suddenly resolute, drew his blanket-robe more 
closely over his shoulders. 

“I saw Alex fall down in the hurdles,” he re- 
marked. “That means the meet is pretty close, 
doesn’t it?” 

“It means that unless we get ten points in the 
next two events, we ’re beaten. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ What ’s the last race ? ’ ’ 

“The mile; and they’ve got Carter.” 

“It’s up to me then, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, it’s up to you.” 

He turned away suddenly, but Dick seized his 
arm and drew him farther from the others. 

“If Raritan loses,” he explained, “every man 
on the team will blame Ted for the defeat. If we 
win, they’ll forget about the two-twenty. So your 
next put means a lot to Raritan, but even more 
to Ted.” 

“Just watch me.” 

He turned without another word and walked 
242 


THE FINAL CHANCE 


over to where Haywood was taking his final try. 
There was the same light in Van’s eyes that 
glimmered there in the football game the last fall, 
and something in the tenseness of his big body 
gave Hick a sudden confidence. He felt in- 
stinctively that something was going to happen. 

Van stood passively until the field judge called 
his name, and then, throwing oft his blanket, 
stepped into the chalked circle. Morrison mut- 
tered a word of encouragement but the freshman 
did not even nod his head. He stood for a mo- 
ment gauging the distance to the farthest mark, 
his muscles relaxed, a half smile on his face. And 
then, growing suddenly tense, he balanced the ball 
carefully on the heel of his hand and drew back, 
slowly, deliberately. Just for a moment he held 
his poise, and then his arm swept forward, backed 
by the power of his massive shoulders and every 
ounce of his two hundred and more pounds of 
bone and muscle. The iron ball shot up and out, 
describing a graceful arc and falling with a dull 
thud at least six feet beyond the most distant dent 
in the turf. 

Morrison uttered a hoarse cry of delight; the 
Hillwood entries, amazed, glanced at Van wonder- 
ingly, and Dick’s heart stood still. The heave was 
good for forty-five feet if it was good for an inch; 
it meant a new college record, and a victory for 
Baritan. Van had done the big thing. 

Morrison rushed forward to clap Van on the 
back and give him the credit which was his due; 

243 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


but suddenly be stopped. The field judge, stand- 
ing on the other side of the circle, held up his 
hand. 

“Foul!” he announced sharply. 

Foul! In the excitement of the record put, 
Dick had forgotten entirely Van’s habit of step- 
ping out of the circle; and Van, his mind entirely 
on the distance to be made, had evidently forgotten 
it too. He had stepped over the chalked top of the 
curving baseboard and had lost the chance to win 
the event, and the meet. With the realization of 
his failure, he turned and walked over to where 
Dick was standing. 

“I fell down on the job, Dick,” he said simply. 
“But tell Ted that I tried my hardest.” 

Together, they made their way slowly across 
the field. Three runners were warming up for the 
mile, but Dick did not give them a glance ; for he 
knew that the score stood even, with forty-eight 
points for each team, and that only a miracle 
could give Raritan the victory. Ted was sitting 
on the bench, his head in his hands, his whole at- 
titude expressive of defeat, and the sight of him 
caused Dick Arnold to clench his fists in impotent 
rage. Ted had tried so hard to do the right thing ; 
and, having done what he thought was honorable, 
he had only succeeded in losing the meet for his 
college. It didn ’t seem fair, and impulsively Dick 
stepped forward and laid his hand on his chum’s 
shoulder. As he did so, the two Raritan entries 
in the mile jogged past, and Dick glanced at them 
244 


THE FINAL CHANCE 


curiously. Art Campbell, the first choice, was 
good for four thirty-eight, but Parsons, the other 
entry, couldn’t have beaten four-fifty to save his 
life. Raritan had only entered him as a last re- 
sort; and his one chance to gain a place would 
be to have Carter fall dead. 

A last resort ! The phrase kept repeating itself 
in Dick’s mind, and involuntarily he glanced down 
at the marked program in his hand. Surely, Rari- 
tan could find a better man than Parsons. There 
were four names listed under the mile event; it 
was the custom to enter whoever the coach thought 
might possibly run; and Dick noticed with some- 
thing of a shock that his own name was the last 
on the list. 

His name! The sight of it staring up at him 
from the printed page seemed almost a portent; 
and as he looked at it rather stupidly, a sudden 
wild idea came to him. Why not run the mile 
himself! No matter how poorly he might do, it 
would not be any worse than Parsons’ best ef- 
fort; and there was perhaps one chance in a hun- 
dred that he might cling to Carter through the 
four laps and beat him to the finish in the final 
sprint. Dick had never run the mile race before ; 
the possibility of it had not entered his head; but 
he was strong, in good condition, and his endur- 
ance and reserve power seemed almost unlimited. 

The three entries were walking slowly toward 
the starting line, and whatever he was going to do 
would have to be done quickly. Coach Dodge 
245 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


was standing near the far end of the bench, and 
Dick almost ran toward him to ask his advice. 
But as he did so, a puff of wind, which had some- 
how slipped through an opening in the grand- 
stand, struck him with startling force, and he 
stood still in his tracks. The memory of the 
quarter mile race early in the afternoon, when one 
brief struggle against afchat wind had left him 
spent and gasping, came to him with pressing 
vividness. The mile race would mean, not one 
meeting with the wind on the backstretch, but 
four. Involuntarily, the boy shivered. He could 
never do it ; it was too much to ask of a 
man. 

And then his eyes rested upon Ted, still sitting 
motionless and alone not twenty feet away. The 
sight of Ted brooding his heart out because he 
had made a mistake brought Dick back to a reali- 
zation of Ted’s problem and all that the mile race 
meant to him. What did the matter of a little 
wind compare with Ted? There was a chance for 
Dick to win the meet ; and he owed it to the college, 
and to Ted, to try. 

Suddenly resolute, he ran over to Coach Dodge 
and asked him if he would take Parsons out and 
substitute Arnold in his place. The coach looked 
up, surprised; but knowing that at least no harm 
could come of it, he nodded and told Dick to go 
ahead. The runners were waiting by their marks, 
but the boy rushed across the track and reported 
to the referee. 


246 


THE FINAL CHANCE 


“ Arnold is going to run for Raritan instead 
of Parsons,’ ’ he announced. 

The official frowned, evidently displeased at the 
delay. Dick kicked off his trousers and sweater 
and jogged hurriedly down the track. The Rari- 
tan rooters, sensing the unusual, boomed forth 
their encouragement; but they knew that at best 
the new entry only had a Chinaman’s chance to 
win. Still, Dick was an unknown quality; there 
was a novelty about the situation which appealed 
to them, and their hope suddenly revived, they 
did the best that they could and yelled hopefully 
for the two Raritan entries. 

As Dick took his place at the starting mark, he 
glanced over to where Ted was sitting. The other 
boy had been aroused by the unusual cheering and 
lifted his head to see what was going on. As his 
eyes fell upon his roommate and chum, surprise 
and amazement gradually changed to a dawning 
hope. He knew that Dick had entered the mile 
for him. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE NEW CAPTAIN 

U NDER normal conditions, a man can run 
two hard races in an afternoon and not 
notice it; but on the day of that track 
meet with Hillwood, conditions were far from nor- 
mal. In the first place it was too cold; but races 
had been run in cold weather before, and that was 
only a minor detail. It was the wind that made 
the difference, that blustering, whistling wind 
which blew like a gale up the backstretch. Dick 
had tested it once; and as he waited for the sound 
of the gun at the beginning of the mile, he had no 
illusions as to its force. He was excited, of 
course, and cold shivers ran up and down his 
spine; nevertheless he was thankful that the de- 
cision had been made, and that there had been no 
time to think about it. For the ordeal which lay 
before them was severe and it is possible that had 
he given himself the time to consider the under- 
taking from all angles, he might have kept out of 
the race. 

But having entered, no matter how difficult the 
trial might prove, he realized that it was up to 
him to give all he had for victory. In a flash he 
248 


THE NEW CAPTAIN 


knew what his plan was to be; the only possible 
chance of winning was to follow Carter through 
the first three and a -half laps, and to sprint the 
final two-hundred yards to the tape. Carter was 
experienced in the mile, knowing the right pace to 
set and the right spot to start his sprint; while 
Dick was ignorant, depending upon a natural run- 
ning ability to counteract all the other boy had 
learned in three years of distance-racing. 

As they stood there waiting for the gun, it 
seemed that the starter was unusually slow in his 
commands, and Dick felt himself trembling vio- 
lently. Only a runner can know the pain of those 
few final seconds before the start of a race ; it is 
the nervous strain which hurts so; that, and the 
vivid realization of the additional pain which is 
bound to come in the last fifty yards. 

But the gun cracked at last, and Carter, first 
off, settled into an easy loping stride, power in 
each swing of his slender legs, poise in the car- 
riage of his head and the effortless hanging of 
his arms. As they rounded the first turn Dick 
stepped in behind him and matched him stride for 
stride, Campbell bringing up in the rear; and in 
this order they turned into the back-stretch, where 
the wind struck them in all its force. Carter, 
leading, slowed up considerably, and for a moment 
his stride faltered. Recovering instantly, he 
fought his way onward, head bent slightly, shoul- 
ders hunched forward. The feel of the wind 
beating against his chest thrilled Dick strangely, 
249 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


but somehow it seemed less forceful than earlier 
in the afternoon, and he wondered vaguely if it 
was losing some of its strength. But almost in- 
stantly he realized that its force had not abated 
a particle; it only seemed so because Carter was 
acting as a wind shield for his body. 

Suddenly hopeful, he moved closer to the leader, 
almost treading on his heels, that he might shield 
himself behind the Hillwood entry. In this man- 
ner they battled their way ahead until the third 
turn was reached ; and then, as they swung around 
and sped into the shelter of the stands, Carter in- 
creased his pace. But the race was young yet. 
There were still more than three daps to go, so 
Dick let him open up a gap of ten yards or more. 
He bounded up the homestretch, holding his lead 
easily and smiling confidently as he passed the 
Hillwood stands. The Raritan rooters, anxiously 
watchful, called out encouragingly ; and as the 
runners reached the turn again, Dick put on some 
extra power and drew up to the flying Carter ; for 
he knew that if he were to have the advantage of 
the leader’s body as a shield, he must keep close 
behind him. Campbell was pounding beside 
Dick, and as they swung into the backstretch 
again, he came pn even terms and made a bid for 
the lead. 

It was a bad move. If Campbell insisted on 
setting the pace, it would mean that he would 
break the force of the wind for Carter, and that 
wa£ the one thing he should not do. So Dick 
250 


THE NEW CAPTAIN 

wasted a few precious breaths and called to 
him. 

“Come back!” he panted. 

Evidently Campbell sensed something of the 
alarm in the command, for he slowed up suddenly 
and dropped back again into third position; and 
in this order they pounded down the backstretch, 
battling their way against the force of the wind, 
knowing instinctively that the race would go to the 
man who held out longest against its gripping 
strength. Carter, loyally courageous, fought his 
way forward, refusing to give way an inch, but 
weakening himself because of his determination 
to keep the lead. Dick wondered vaguely why 
the other boy did not see the foolishness of his 
plan, why he did not drop back and let someone 
else make the pace. But either because he was 
confident of his lasting powers or because the idea 
did not occur to him, Carter struggled along in 
front and permitted his body to shield the other 
two runners. In this order they swung out of 
the wind again; and once more the leader in- 
creased his pace. 

But Dick was still fresh. The strain of the 
longer distance had not yet begun to tell, so he 
accepted his challenge and matched his opponent 
•stride for stride. But as they passed the bench 
where the Hillwood athletes were sitting, one of 
them leaped to his feet and ran along the track 
for a few paces, shouting as he ran. 

“Let them take the lead,” he yelled to 
251 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 

Carter. “Let one of them break the wind for 
you.” 

Carter nodded, and as they turned into the back- 
stretch for the third time, he slackened his speed 
and swung away from the pole. But his action 
was obvious; both Campbell and Dick had heard 
the advice of his teammate, and they had no in- 
tention of losing their advantage. So they swung 
out with him, refusing to slip into the lead, and the 
pace suddenly became ridiculously slow. From 
across the field came the sound of thunderous 
cheering ; Dick knew that the Raritan rooters were 
calling upon him to set the pace, but with lips 
shut grimly he only clung the more closely to 
•Carter. The race was being run the way he had 
hoped. The slower the pace, the better his 
chances for victory; for if the race resolved itself 
into a sprint down the homestretch, he knew that 
a short-distance man would have the advantage 
over a miler. 

Carter evidently thought the same thing, for as 
soon as the far turn was reached, he bounded for- 
ward at a speed which immediately opened up a 
gap of five yards. He was going to try to kill the 
others off, depending upon his experience and 
training to overcome Dick’s sprinting ability and 
Campbell’s mediocrity. But Dick knew that if 
Carter did win a lead of ten yards or more on the 
backstretch, he would be useless as a shield; and 
although his legs began to pain dully and his 
breathing seemed suddenly clogged, the Raritan 
252 


THE NEW CAPTAIN 


runner sprinted desperately and was again on Car- 
ter ’s heels as they swept before the stands. A 
gun harked; this was the last lap. 

Campbell had fallen behind. A mediocre run- 
ner at best, he had not been able to stand the pace, 
and the race had narrowed down to Carter and 
Dick. With another lap still to run, they were 
practically on even terms ; but the Hillwood run- 
ner was a miler, accustomed to the strain of the 
longer distance; and Dick had never gone more 
than four-forty yards in his life. Whatever con- 
fidence he may have had disappeared suddenly; 
something told him that his efforts would be use- 
less, that the other man was already assured of 
victory. His legs were heavy with fatigue, his 
breath came quickly, gaspingly. On ahead of him 
Carter appeared to be running smoothly and 
without apparent effort. 

As they reached the backstretch for the last 
time, Carter dug his spikes into the hard cinders 
and actually increased his pace. It was all done 
seemingly without exertion, and as Dick strove 
desperately to keep close to him, his heart sank. 
The effects of the quarter-mile race with Bergen 
began to make themselves felt and, strange as it 
may sound, Dick’s arms and shoulders ached more 
than his legs. He was seized with a sudden desire 
to stop running in order to rub his left arm, which 
dangled lifelessly and seemed utterly without 
strength. His breath caught halfway down his 
throat, causing a choking sound to slip through 
253 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


his tightly shut lips. He was more tired than he 
had ever been in his life, and more hopeless; but 
some instinct drove his weary legs onward and 
caused him to cling desperately to the speeding 
Carter. 

Before they reached the end of the back- 
stretch, all immediate surroundings had merged 
into a gray haze; somewhere far away, people 
were cheering, and in front of him a pair of 
legs was striding with machine-like precision. 
Those legs began to bother Dick somehow; 
there was something about their continual mo- 
tion which made him want to leap forward 
at them in a flying tackle. But his weary muscles 
were unequal to the task; all he could do was 
to keep on running. Something outside of him 
was driving him forward; he only knew that he 
wanted to stop and lie down upon the track ; but 
never once did it occur to him to drop out of the 
race. So he just kept going, wondering vaguely 
how far they had to go and how long the dull ache 
would continue. 

Then for an instant he lost sight of Carter, and 
the other boy’s disappearance filled him with 
vague wonder. But the leader popped up again 
a moment later; he had turned into the home- 
stretch and swung far out on the track. Sud- 
denly Dick was conscious of the sound of someone 
yelling hoarsely in his ear; the voice seemed to 
come from a distance, but it was strangely 
familiar, and penetrated the dullness of his mind, 
254 


THE NEW CAPTAIN 

bringing him to a momentary realization of where 
he was and what he was doing. Out of the cor- 
ner -of his eye he saw Ted White dancing crazily 
at the side of the track, his arms waving and his 
lips forming words of encouragement. 

That sight of Ted was a tonic. Dick remem- 
bered all at once that he was running the mile 
for Ted and for Raritan, and that unless he struck 
the tape ahead of Carter, his college would lose 
the meet. The thought put new power into him. 
Glancing ahead and to the right, he saw the Hill- 
wood entry. But he saw also something which 
had not occurred to him before ; Carter was stag- 
gering, his legs were shaky, and his eyes were star- 
ing out from a face as white as a sheet. 

Dick knew then that his rival was in almost 
as bad a condition as he was ; that the remainder 
of the race was simply a question of courage. Be- 
fore them, seemingly miles away, but in reality 
only thirty yards, the tape stretched tautly; from 
the stands, now an indeterminate mass of moving 
figures, issued a dull roar, like the pounding of 
surf on a sandy beach. And beside the track, still 
waving his arms grotesquely, raced Ted White. 

It was Ted, undoubtedly, who gave Dick the 
power to get over those remaining thirty yards. 
Neither Carter nor he was running — just stagger- 
ing from one side of the track to the other, eyes on 
the tape, breath coming in wheezing sobs, jaws 
hanging limply. Afterwards the Raritan stu- 
dents announced that it was the greatest race they 
255 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


ever had seen, with two spent runners fighting 
every step of the last twenty yards. Dick didn’t 
know. It seemed as if he would never reach the 
finish; hut finally the tape loomed up before him, 
and with his last ounce of reserve power he threw 
himself forward. But just before his arms struck 
the track, he felt the snap of the worsted across 
his chest. He had won ! 

Ted told him afterwards that Carter crawled on 
his hands and knees for the last five yards ; and 
when he flopped across the line, he just lay there 
and cried like a baby. Dick would have given a 
good deal could he have seen him and taken his 
hand at that moment ; the greater glory was really 
Carter’s, for he had set the pace through all of the 
heartbreaking distance, thereby weakening him- 
self for the finish. But Dick did not see him until 
a half hour later, and that was when the Raritan 
team was gathered in the field house for the elec- 
tion of team captain. 

Most of the men were dressed, but Dick was 
still in his track suit, his legs wabbly, and his head 
spinning like a top. He sat propped up at the end 
of a long bench, half leaning against the wall and 
understanding but dimly what was going on. He 
knew vaguely that Tommy Jenkins got up and 
nominated George Martin for captain. A sud- 
den, unreasoning rage swept through him. He 
wanted to tell them just what kind of a fellow 
Martin really was;. but he only frowned foolishly 
and sat there silently. Some one else said same- 
256 


THE NEW CAPTAIN 


thing, and then Martin got up suddenly and began 
to speak. His face was white and his voice 
sounded husky, and Dick could not follow his 
words very clearly; but he learned later that the 
other boy had made a clean breast of his breaking 
training rules, of his fraternity deal, and of his 
plan to have Ted thrown out of the meet. Then 
Martin stated he did not deserve to be captain, 
and nominated Ted. 

They told Dick afterwards that the meeting 
was a unique one of its kind, and that it was a 
shame he could not have followed it clearly. It 
seems that as soon as Ted was suggested for the 
place, Ted got up and began to talk about not 
being true to Earitan and placing his personal de- 
sires before the good of the team. And then, to 
make the mix-up more complete, Ted refused the 
nomination for captaincy. 

There was a brief silence after that. The men 
were frankly puzzled. Finally Ted got up again. 

“ There’s only one fellow who deserve’s to be 
captain of this team,” he announced, “and that’s 
the man who ran the greatest race I’ve ever seen — 
the man who won the meet for us this afternoon. 
I propose that we elect Dick Arnold unani- 
mously.” 

Ted’s proposal cleared Dick’s mind with start- 
ling suddenness. He knew that Ted had earned 
the captaincy, that it was his by right of merit; 
and an overpowering desire to tell the others about 
it possessed him. With one hand on the wall, Dick 
257 


DICK ARNOLD OF RARITAN COLLEGE 


arose unsteadily and looked at A1 Thorpe, who 
happened to be standing directly across the room. 

“Don’t listen to him, fellows,” he said. “Ted 
White deserves — ” 

But A1 Thorpe, his eyes smiling, shook his head 
deliberately, and some one in the back of the room 
yelled for Dick to sit down. He intended to keep 
on talking, but Ted pulled him back to the bench. 
There he sat stupidly while some one seconded 
Ted’s motion and the rest of the fellows yelled like 
a lot of wild Indians. A voice somewhere near 
said something about some one being “clean out 
of his head,” and before Dick knew it, he had been 
elected captain of the Raritan track team. 

There followed then the usual handshaking and 
useless talk, but finally the others went out of the 
room and left Ted and Dick together. Neither of 
them said a word for a long time, simply sat there 
side by side. Finally Ted got up. 

“Come on and take a shower, Dick,” he sug- 
gested. “It will make a new man of you.” 

He placed his hand under his chum’s shoulder 
and started to lift him up, but Dick sank back on 
the bench again, his throbbing head clearing sud- 
denly. 

“Ted,” he said, “you — you ought to be cap- 
tain.” 

But Ted, his eyes smiling but his face sternly 
resolute, caught the other boy by the shoulders 
with both of his big hands. 

“I don’t care a thing in the world about the cap- 
258 


THE NEW CAPTAIN 


taincy, Dick,” he said earnestly. “Phil Patton 
is going to Boston, you’ve done a big thing for 
me, and Raritan won the meet with Hillwood.” 

And looking up into Ted’s honest blue eyes, 
Dick Arnold knew that he spoke the truth. 


(i) 


THE END 





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KAY 2 0 1M0 



